


Under The Mask

by Lanyakea



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Blood and Injury, F/M, Harley Keener is Peter Parker's Cousin, Harley Keener is Tony and Pepper's Biological Child, Hurt Peter, Kidnapping, M/M, Mutation, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Not Spider-Man: Homecoming Compliant, Rivalry, Superfamily (Marvel), Tony Stark is Peter Parker's Biological Uncle, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 62,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21862777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lanyakea/pseuds/Lanyakea
Summary: Peter grew up surrounded by famous people and the Avengers. Some will say that it's the dream of all children, and that no one could hope for a better life. Others will say that Peter is doomed to be a boastful and spoiled rotten person.Though, Peter never had shared this point of view, because he had always thought that growing up in the shadows of superheroes is a painful burden.Until the day when the irony of fate strikes, and when the shy and weak Peter Parker becomes Spider-Man: endowed with great powers, he decides to come out of Iron-Man's shadow and establish justice by his own hands.
Relationships: Harley Keener & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones & Ned Leeds & Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Flash Thompson
Comments: 59
Kudos: 180





	1. The Queens New Vigilante

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first big project with a MCU fiction, I'm so excited!  
> English isn't my mother tongue, however I have a marvelous beta-reader (thank you again alifetime, this fiction wouldn't be here without you :D)
> 
> I have few warnings for you though, it's important to read this if you haven't read the tags yet:  
> \- There will be descriptions of violences, fights, and death.  
> \- major character death  
> \- Homosexual relationship  
> \- Peter wasn't bitten by a spider here, this is a natural mutation (like in the X-men movies)  
> \- Tony, May, and Marie are siblings, so Tony is Peter's uncle, and Harley is Peter's cousin. Ben adopted Peter, this is the reason his family name is Parker (instead of his father's name).  
> \- In this fiction, Spider-Man will be sort of darker (more violent and coarse...)  
> \- Not Canon Compliant  
> \- Spider-Man's identity is still secret at the start of the fiction  
> \- Civil War happened, but Spider-Man never had joined the fight.

When Peter was a child, he lost both his parents in a plane crash. People believed the skittishness they saw had something to do with his parent’s death. The truth is that he barely remembered them. Peter was four when it happened. He remembered that his uncle Ben was holding him in front of the graves. The red and white flowers. Everyone patted his head, weeping; he didn’t understand what death meant.

The untimely death of Peter's parents is the reason he went to live with two different families. First, it was mostly his uncle Ben with his aunt May. They didn't have a child at the time, to the contrary of Pepper and Tony who had Harley. His cousin was six-years-old. He was his best, and his only friend. But things changed when Peter began to live with them. For the working week, he was at the tower, and at the weekend, he was at Ben's and May's.

Harley spoke less to Peter as they grew up. The media began harassing their family. Social bonds were weird. Enemies, hypocrites, liars, and pressure appeared. As did puberty.

However, over time, Peter made some friends. Especially Ned and Michelle. He would never forget the smile on his aunt Pepper's face when he introduced them to her during a time when he was fighting his apprehension.

And then… strange things happened. Again.

Peter had heard about mutations; opinions were various. Some people thought that all mutants were freaks. Others thought that they were gifted by God – to help and lead the world to be a better place. Peter had never known what to think about them. As a child, those people were awesome because they had super-powers – once he saw a girl who could melt or burn everything she touched with her bare hands; he was in his last year of elementary school. What he saw was awesome. Until the girl hurt someone. Severely. Peter had never heard about her since. Then those people became different to him too. Abnormal. It was maybe the famous irony of fate because when Peter turned fourteen, he began to stick.

The first time had been with a can of coke, at the refectory. He had thought that it was a joke from Flash or someone else. But no one was taking photos or laughing when it happened. No one had noticed.

The second time had been with a pencil; Peter was doing his homework. It broke when he began to panic. The fingers pressure was too hard on it.

The third time, Peter cried. His hand had been stuck on his bedroom's door handle at Ben's and May's apartment. Again, he broke it because of fear. The door dislocated, and the handle unscrewed.

Ben tried to speak to him. Man to man, he had said. It was always easy to talk with his uncle. Nevertheless, Peter didn’t tell him about his new secret. Those kind of things still happened a lot. Months had passed, and he became stickier. Stronger. Faster. Muscular. His eyes were always painful, awfully sensitive, and so were his ears.

So, in the end, he had to hide his body with large sweatshirts. His hands were as long as possible in his pockets. Peter also wore earphones to block outside noises. He cheated weirdly in PE, acting as if he was constantly in distress to not be noticed. One day Peter received a punch from another teen in the same class that lead to a critical black eye. His uncle Tony had put some ointment on the bruise to help it to heal. But the next morning, nothing was left. The blackeye was long gone. Afraid that his abnormality would be discovered, he decided to harm himself to let appear as a new mark.

It took time, but he finally admitted it: he was a mutant.

A freak. A _monster_.

Peter had once asked Steve whether people referred to Captain America as a monster because of his serum. The man had gently smiled at him and patted his curly hair before answering that there was a lot of monsters in this world who exist who by no means deserve the hatred from people.

Monsters weren’t the only ones in depth at sea.

He looked at his hands. He looked at the wall before him. And he was climbing toward the sky.

Peter jumped from the roof of a building to another for hours. Yelling. Smiling. _Living_.

Peter never felt that before. It was like being alive for the first time. And it felt _so_ good. He was powerful. And so strong. He finally escaped the shadow of the Stark family – the great shadow of Iron-Man.

At the beginning, it was just for the fun. Peter hung around the city after school. He ran as fast as he could and climbed again and again.

Until he heard someone scream. Something within him woke up and made his senses go haywire. Peter didn’t even think about anything else before he swung to the person begging for his life in this dark alley. It was a young man, curled on the dirty ground, begging for his life as another man – much older – was beating him. Laughing. Grinning like a madman. Peter instinctively stepped forward. A knife appeared in the man’s hands. And one second later, a neck was broken.

Time seemed to stop when Peter understood what he had done. The man was dead. He had killed him. With his bare hands.

He was about to cry and run away when the younger man sniffed and choked out a barely audible, “Thanks.”

The bad guy was… gone. And the good guy was safe.

The Avengers didn’t save him. It was Peter Parker. And he was now really a monster for what he had done to this man. He ran away. Sobbing, his thoughts conflicting against the power he held in his hands.

For days he thought about his new powers. He thought of how to use them, and if it was a good or a bad thing. His Stark mind prompted him to improve his new self. So he created his webs, based on the spider. It had always fascinated him, and studying these incredible creatures had been very interesting. As for the creation of his web-shooters, Peter had done that on his own. He became step by step the spider in the dark. Hiding, waiting to attack. Quiet, but no less weak.

When he chooses to do something with all of this, Peter wasn’t very confident. He dreaded the moment when the Avengers would take an interest in him, the new vigilante of Queens. The young man was strong, yes, but what could he do against all of those super-heroes? Besides, all of them were in his heart. Peter could never hurt them – he never would. Though Iron-Man was still his first concern. Of all, his uncle was far more susceptible to discover everything. And if he did, he would do anything to stop him. Peter knew that his uncle was protective. Tony had always taken them away when danger was apparent, or when he had to do an Avenger-thing. _Do as I say, not as I do_ , Peter always thought deep in his mind. His uncle’s famous words always rattled something inside of him.

However, it was his life. His family could help him through it. But none of them could ever chose it for him.

With a pair of old clothes, Peter made a suit. Well… Maybe it looked better in his head. But he knew that it would do.

His homemade suit had grey, long sleeves under a black sleeveless hoodie with a red spider chest emblem - he sewed it himself after some advice from Aunt May regarding the needles - dark fingerless gloves with webbing designs on them, and black goggles to fight crime which was more or less adapted to the sensibility of his eyes – he stole them from Bruce's laboratory; he was away at the time, and the goggles were not going to miss him.

Peter had thought that it was hard and laborious to all sew up. But he eventually fought it, and up came the first swinging test.

Peter had sworn that he had never felt so ridiculous before, by standing up on this roof in the middle of the night, legs and hands shaking while he was holding a rope of web, the other side stuck to another building which was about thirty meters away of him. God, he sounded like _Tarzan_ …

Yet, swinging through a street proved otherwise; he nailed it.

Though, concerning the emergency stops, or at least emergency turns...

Peter went back to Ben and May's home with a black and blue side that night. But if there were broken ribs, then the next morning there was almost nothing left to see.

Despite the fear and some scratches, Peter did it.

It was... magic. Like flying.

_Is this how Iron-Man felt when he was in the sky?_

Press called the new masked vigilante Spider-Man. The teenager blushed when he read this on social media for the first time. People were talking about him. Criminality began to decrease in Queens. Thanks to him. _Spider-Man_.

The Avengers didn’t bother him. The neighbourhood police couldn't even succeeded to talk to him. People ran after him when he appeared for a few seconds through the city. Screaming his hero-name. Taking pictures. Greeting him. He was loved. Admired. This was so nice.

But when we dream, we always have to wake up.

Ben died.

His uncle was looking for him while Peter was patrolling in the Queens. He had noticed his absence. Truth is Ben had always noticed a lot of things, including Peter's strange behaviour since he was Spider-Man – always sneaking out when everybody was asleep, staying in his room, being grumpy. Ben had wanted to help him. And Peter had told to his uncle to leave him alone.

Then, Peter heard the gunshot.

Since he was little, his uncle Ben was the one who was the most paternal for him. If he had to call someone ‘dad’ then it would have been him. He wasn't distant and awkward as was his uncle Tony. Ben knew what to do, what to say. _Just go away_ , Peter had coldly said to him.

Uncle Ben was lying on the floor, dying.

Peter took off his mask and knelt beside him. Then he realized that barely a minute wasn't enough to say all you needed to say to someone you love. Though, the funny thing is that Peter, sometimes, couldn't remember what his uncle told to him. He remembered the blood like it was red-marked into his mind.

This time, Peter did understand what death meant.

Ben died because some guy decided that his life had to stop there. His uncle did not give up the car. He tried to reason his assailant. Of course, he did.

Sometimes Spider-Man did kill people. It was never for pleasure, or premeditated. It happened when he had to act for his life. And this time was special. He had someone to kill.

Finding this man was easy. He recognized Ben's car parked near this shabby building. Peter climbed onto the walls and slid out of the window like a silent and a deadly shadow. No sound was heard. However, the body of his uncle's murderer was found hanging on a beam in his apartment, his four limbs dislocated and his jaw broken.

When he eventually returned to his apartment, he dropped into bed and finally cried. Ben was dead and it was his fault. Being Spider-Man was supposed to bring him more freedom. He felt happy under the mask of Queens' vigilante. Now he felt angry. Betrayed by his alter-ego. Bad people had always existed. But being a victim of one of them is different. It had a more real and cruel aspect. The feeling of injustice wasn’t enough to beat the injustice. It wouldn’t bring Ben back to life. Peter knew that. He also knew that there were many other people like his uncle, victims of the injustice of this world. People who didn't arouse the interest of the Avengers. So many innocents who needed protection. Peter swore to himself that he would never let that happen again. Not when he was Spider-Man, looking out for the little guy.

Aunt May timidly knocked on his door the next day. She gently stroked his hair, and he didn't miss her red and puffy eyes. Peter had to cry a second time, pretending to be surprised. In a sense it was real. He realized that it wasn't a dream, and sadness overcame him for the second time.

Ben was gone.

The funeral took place a few days later. Only family and close friends were there. May did not want to see anyone else. Peter held her hand tightly during the ceremony. His eyes were burning with anger when it wasn’t with guilt. A little voice was singing in his head ‘ _It’s your fault_.’

What was more surprising was that the most painful was not directly Ben's death, but May's behaviour during the weeks that followed. She did everything she could to stay strong. His aunt May had never cried in front of him. Peter knew that it was to not add a weight on his shoulders. But if she discovered his secret one day, she would never forgive him. He is the reason why his aunt is widowed. Everyone loved Ben.

It took months to move on after his uncle’s death; life continued its course.

Peter went back to school a week after. Ned was there for him, doing what he had to do to comfort his best friend. MJ too, in her way. It didn't recover the hole that Ben had left in his heart, but it helped.

May and he continued to watch movies together, every Saturday night. Tony continued to tinker with him in his lab. Clint continued to teach him the archery. Steve and Natasha continued to teach him self-defence tricks at the tower gym. And Rhodey, when he was not busy with a mission, continued to take him to fast-food restaurants – sometimes with Harley. Even if he secretly became a vigilante, the idea was pretty clear: to not live in the past, and go for the future. Peter had had hope.

Then, Sokovia Accords arrived.

This time it wasn't a bullet that tore apart his family. It was papers. Medias called this tragedy "Civil War".

As Spider-Man, he had to be ready to stand up beside the avengers to fight those stupid accords. Government couldn't impose them missions, or rules. They were heroes, already ready to give up their lives. The world needed them. Peter nearly abandoned his secret identity. And then his uncle Tony fucked up: he signed. So did Rhodey and Natasha.

Tony wouldn’t let his family hear about the other Avengers since Germany.

He came back hurt and became as silent as a corpse. Peter and Harley had to stay at May’s for two weeks after those events. Yet, Tony was still taciturn. It's been a month and a half since – it became a taboo subject. Even Pepper sometimes acted as if nothing happened. Peter did like everyone else and remained silent. However, he couldn't forget that his world had exploded. His family was gone.

Being Spider-Man didn’t help to go through that. His sleep was agitated, haunted by nightmares and ghosts that he wished he could have forgotten. Ben, Steve, Sam, Natasha, Bruce, Clint. They all were gone.

_“You’re not alone ”_

Peter jumped in a sitting position in his bed with a jerky breath, his body gleaming with sweat. For a second he couldn't remember where he was, or what was happening. This is why he found his own hands clenched into fists, ready to fight – his senses highed up crazily, almost led his eyes wet. It took a long minute before his eyes caught on a desk. His desk. There was his school notebooks on it. Peter remembered leaving them there last night, before slumping onto his bed. He sighed loudly and let his shoulders sag. _I'm at the tower, right_ , Peter thought. He put his hands on his face, trying to stop the little tremors that shook his body. Damn, he needed a shower.

Violent knocks thundered against his bedroom's door, made him jump once again.

"What the hell are you doing?! Happy'll be here by ten minutes! Move your lazy ass !"

Harley, as pleasant as ever.

Footsteps sounds went far away, followed by edgy mumbles.

Well, there was no time for a shower. If he was late – again – Happy would probably kill him.

Peter hurried to get dressed, ensuring that his sweatshirt was large enough to hide his body, then he went to the kitchen. He found Pepper who was cutting strawberries into small squares, putting them into a mixer with bananas. His nose wrinkled at the smell; how could she eat that? He remembered that once she said something about eating healthy. _Another girl thing_ , Peter guessed.

"Hi Pepper," he said happily, kissing her cheek before opening the high cupboard to take a chocolate bar.

"Hi, sweetheart. I made you a chicken sandwich for lunch." She pointed at a bag on the central island. "You never take time to eat your breakfast. For a few days now."

He could hear the worry through her voice. Nevertheless, his aunt's eyes were still shining with love and kindness. Warming people’s hearts as one of her super-powers, with the capacity to made his uncle shut up – sometimes. After a few seconds, he smiled at Pepper.

"I'm fine, just not hungry."

Pepper wiped her hands with a towel before going towards her nephew.

"If I had believed Tony and didn't kick him out of his labs every time he told me that, he would probably be dead a hundred times at least."

_Tony is an idiot._

"Talking about him... where is he?"

Silence was eloquent. Peter felt sad for his aunt – since the Germany-incident, Tony spent a lot of time locked up in his labs. He does that when he is upset. Never talking, or sharing his pain. Just be an incredible asshole.

"Tony is busy. But don’t worry, he’ll be back before you know it. Tony is… well, Tony."

"Y-Yeah... you're right. Thanks, aunt Pepper."

She gave him a gentle smile and kissed his cheek before he could grab the bag and go outside the tower to meet Happy who was already annoyed of the pending.

**.**

"Okay, kids!" Happy’s voice snapped, locking Peter out of his thoughts.

The teenager lifted his head to take a look around them. The car was parked in front of Midtown School, as per usual. He whined when he saw all the reporters who were waiting for them, with big cameras and mics; the daily artillery was calling them.

"So, you know the protocol: head down. Don’t be rude. Don’t fool around – hey, Harley, that is for _you_."

The concerned one didn’t bother to look at the driver, or even nod. Earphones were in his ears, and from what Peter saw, Harley was scrolling Instagram's actualities. Their eyes briefly met and the younger immediately turned himself toward his window to avoid his cousin’s irritated glare. Happy sighed as he opened his door.

Reporters went crazy.

Peter hated being flashed by cameras. He had experienced this all his life, especially when the Avengers had formed. It had faded over time but since the Sokovia Accords, going out has become hell. Happy was now escorting them everyday school to the gates of the school, ready to push away any overly confident journalist who could block their way.

The younger one bowed his head, ignoring the mics and the questions as Happy was leading them through the crowd. Inversely, Harley was smiling, head up, and walked with a proud and confident pace. Yep, Harley was a Stark. Tony’s son.

"Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark, what can you say to us about Captain America?!" asked a reporter who looked ridiculous as she tried to follow Harley with her huge stilettos.

"First, he’s gay. Look at his hair. Secondly, he’s an asshole."

Peter clenched his fists. His senses were warning him. God, he didn’t like the flashes. He tried to keep staring at the floor as he walked toward the gates. Just a few meters.

"Mr. Parker! Any word about the death of Benjamin Parker?!"

"Is Tony Stark going to adopt you ?!"

"How do you feel about the end of the Avengers ?!"

"Harley, Peter, are you considering the option of being the next Iron-Man?!”

More flashes. Screams.

Uncle Ben. Steve. _Oh, God…_

His ears started to buzz when suddenly they were in school. The doors closed behind them, stifling the voices of the reporters, and everything went back to normal. Harley went for his friends who were greeting him, and Peter was no one again. Students were staring at him, but he acted as he didn't notice. He didn't want attention – he didn’t like it, especially from strangers. Before Spider-Man, Peter was afraid of this because he always felt weak against the others. Now, it just annoyed him.

As he was going for his locker someone collided his shoulder. He hadn't felt it coming because of the reporters' voices that were still in his head.

"You're on the way, Dickwad !"

Flash, of course. His friends laughed, looking as if he was less than nothing. The daily treatment for him. As breaking their bones wasn't an option, Peter just continued on his way, staring at the ground, his right hand on his numb shoulder.

While he was taking some notebooks from his locker, he felt a presence near him. Peter couldn't help but smile before he even saw the owner of this friendly aura: Ned.

"Hi, dude."

"Hi! Have you eyes in the back?" Ned laughed before doing with his friend their usual hand check.

"Almost. You just smell."

Ned outraged face made Peter laughed. Their childish squabbles were one of the only things that hadn't changed in recent months – in a way, it was a comforting and a homely feeling.

"Hey losers. It seems you had brought your dogs with you. Again."

They both turned toward MJ. She smiled, shamelessly, and then looked at Peter, waiting for any answer. Indeed, all the students of Midtown School had to endure the reporters too, especially when they had to enter into the building – reporters sucked, they were like statues, waiting to get what they wanted to finally move away. He closed his locker and put his hands inside of his pockets, nervous.

"W-Well... We didn't a-ask for th-..."

"I'm messing with you." She interrupted him, already walking away. "We have a math test. Hurry up guys, I won't cover you this time."

Then she was gone. Ned and Peter looked at each other before shrugged. Michelle was Michelle. But sometimes, Peter had to admit it, she scared the shit out of him.

Yet it was the closest thing he had to a stable family right now. MJ and Ned – maybe Pepper too – were the only ones who didn't change towards him, so it didn't remind him that his life was shit.


	2. Hero or Villain?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter understands that, as Spider-Man, he will have ennemies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here the chapter two!  
> Thank again to alifetime <3 As I said in the chapter one, english isn't my mother tongue so she helps me a lot with her correction ;) By the way, go check her works, I'm in love with the serie 'Patience, Prudence and Expectations'. 
> 
> I estimated that it will be about thirty chapters for this fanfiction. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own MCU character's, or movies. 
> 
> Enjoy it!

"Hey, dude, are you with us?"

Peter blinked as Ned waved his hand in front of his face. MJ looked at him with a jaded expression, raising an eyebrow as he opened his mouth without saying anything.

"Um... w-what? Sorry guys, I-I wasn't paying a-attention..."

He felt nervous when people were staring at him, even if it was friends.

"No shit," MJ sighed, poking at her plate of pasta with a fork "Who is the lady ?"

"Uh... ?"

Her allusion was clear as crystal, and even if Peter knew she was messing with him, he couldn't stop the blush that spread over all his face.

"N-No...! I wasn't thinking about that! "

Peter was about to tell them what was on his mind, but the words blocked themselves in his throat. Saying it out loud was painful. His friends had to notice his anxious attitude, because their smile faded.

Peter sighed and ran a hand over his face.

"My uncle. He finally got out of his labs."

"Really?! That's awesome!"

The teenager would have like to have had the same reaction. However, the truth is that he wasn't happy by that. Tony began to show up here and there, acting as if everything was normal, whil Peter began to hide in his bedroom. He didn't want to talk to him. He didn't even want to see his uncle. Peter was so disappointed in him. Tony had chosen strangers over friends and family.

"Is it, though?"

Ned showed a confuse face right after Michelle’s words. Peter meanwhile suppressed a smile — MJ was a clever girl.

"Actually... I don't know. Not anymore."

Peter still loved his uncle; of course, he did, but things were different for a few months. Something had broken up between them.

"I guess that I'm happy he's back. But, y'know... I'm avoiding him, and he's avoiding me. I think Tony doesn't want to see anyone."

"You've been through a lot, dude. It's normal to be lost."

He hummed shortly, not convinced.

"Besides, Iron-Man must have been very busy with the treason of Captain America... He has to take care of all the avengers's business"

"Yeah, instead of take care of his family," Peter snapped. "He's only busy with the mess he made!"

Well, that was rough.

Now he had the attention of the people seated at the tables around them; Peter's shoulders dropped. He really did not like when people were looking at him.

He felt his cheeks warming. It wasn't usual for him to show up with an aggressive attitude, so he guessed that the "uncle Tony subject" was very emotionally sensitive. Though, Ned wasn't responsible for his uncle's decisions.

"Sorry Ned..."

"It's alright... I know that you miss Steve."

 _Damnit_. Peter's throat tightened and he felt his eyes become wet. The mention of Steve was also torturing. Sometimes he would just like to stay locked in his room, and never get out of his hole again because he had the impression of not being ready. He didn't know if he will be one day. Peter took his glass of water and drank a deep sip to make the tears go away before everyone could see him cry — he didn't want to see this on social webs.

Laughs were heard on the other side of the refectory.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let’s enter the kings of all the losers..." MJ pointed a direction with her chin, and both of the young men followed her gaze.

If Peter did his best to avoid the attention and the cameras, the contrary applied for his cousin. Harley was parading with an extinguisher, and he was covering his friends with foam. The other students laughed and encouraged it — most of them had already began to film the scene. Peter slowly shook his head in disbelief. His cousin had always been a little boastful, especially when he was with his friends, or his bunch of monkeys Peter would like to say. But this... It was like Harley wanted to get detentions. Pepper was not going to be happy to discover that, either by the mouth of the principal or through social networks. _As if it wasn't enough already to have Tony as her husband_ , Peter bitterly thought; she shouldn't have to suffer because of them.

"I can't believe that you're related to this idiot. I mean, you're obviously a loser too but he's the winner, it's scandalous."

A smile spread over Peter's face. MJ pursued:

"It can't be Pepper, and as you're half-dumb, I conclude that it's Tony fault. Wait... did I just find the source of the stupidity gene?! Aunt May is a good secretive though since she's his sister... Or she's an exception."

As Michelle continued to speculate on the ancestral stupidity gene of the Starks, Peter's face colors gradually disappeared until he was pale. Somehow, it hurt him to remember that he wasn't a true Stark. Tony, the last paternal figure he had, wasn't his father. Ben was the nearest of that, and he's gone. Sometimes Peter wondered where he truly belonged: his parents were dead, and so was Ben.

May and Pepper never failed when it came to making him feel safe and loved. However, he needed something else, something that only a father, or a very good man figure could bring to him. Tony wasn't that person. Maybe he could have been, but now... Peter didn't feel safe anymore near him. Not that his uncle could harm him, or that Peter didn't trust him, but...

He was disappointed in his childhood hero. All the stars which were once in his eyes when he was speaking about Iron-Man — his beloved uncle — were long gone.

It’s a very painful feeling that is loneliness. The Queens' vigilante had still a family, but yet he felt apart of them. He is the boy that they _had_ to take care of.

**.**

Tears didn't come out when he was at school, but when he was sat on his bed, hidden in his bedroom. Happy drove them back to the tower and Harley had to sit at the living room table to speak with his mother — who, indeed, did not seem grateful. As Peter didn't have homework, he decided to look at some of his phone's videos. Even after a few months, the pain was still sharp in his heart. Videos or souvenir photos helped a few times. Peter tried to remember the good times with his uncle Ben. There were then two possible reactions; either he laughed with a deep and warm feeling of love and peace or he cried when reality resurfaced and reminded him that it was over. He could never talk to him again and tell to his uncle " _I love you_ " because it was too late.

_"Uncle Ben, Uncle Ben! look at the gooses!"_

Peter softly smiled when he saw the eleven-year-old- Peter pointing at those poor birds; _the boy’s screams were scaring them and they flapped their wings to try to intimidate them in return_. A salty taste haunted his lips because of the tears that were blurring his eyes.

_May was holding the phone as Peter clenched his hands on the bars of the enclosure. Ben wasn't on the screen, but he could still hear him laugh._

_"Calm down, buddy. Or they're gonna eat you alive..." Ben said with a fake sinister voice._

_And then he showed up, going for Peter and grabbing gently his shoulders to get him back away from the bars. His smile was contagious._

_"Oh c'mon uncle Ben, I'm eleven, not five ! I know that gooses don't eat meat."_

_"Uh-hu," the man contradicted. "Once, one of these creatures bit my ass whereas I was giving hem bread !"_

_May barked a very disgracious laugh behind the phone while she was filming._

_"Oh, that was something ! You screamed like a girl..."_

_Ben's outraged face turned toward the camera, making aunt May laugh louder._

_"Can we go see the peacocks? I had heard that one of them is an albino! Come on, let's go!" The young teenager screamed happily as he was pulling his uncle wrist._

_"Wow, what did he eat this morning? The kid's already giving me grey hairs..."_

_"I'm no kid!"_

This magic moment was broken when Peter heard footsteps approaching his bedroom — he could tell that it was Pepper because he recognized the stilettos sound. So he locked his phone and wiped his nose briefly with his sleeve when his aunt entered into the room.

"Hi sweetie, dinner is ready. You didn't hear me call you," she said with a soft ton.

"O-Oh... Sorry."

Peter couldn't find or even think about a good lie; he just sniffed and stared at his hands, hoping that Pepper would let him alone.

As he was still sitting on the left side of his bed, that meant that his back was facing the door. Maybe Pepper didn't have notice that her nephew was crying. The door eventually closed and Peter sighed of relief, but then he heard the stilettos again and he closed his eyes. Right now, he wanted more than anything to be alone, thus no one could see his tears — it was a really pathetic sight. The mattress sagged next to him when Pepper sat down, placing a hand on his shoulder. The teenager wished that he could let his pain go, and cry out for what he lost. Though, he was sick of looking like the poor and weak little orphan who needed help.

"I'm fine, aunt Pepper..." His voice was low and half-broken, barely louder than a mumble.

"No, you're not. But you will be."

Peter opened his eyes when he felt a finger under his chin before looking at his aunt. She was smiling. No judgment through her gaze.

"Because we are here for you, and we all love you so much, Peter."

Her aura was remarkably comforting. He didn't have the heart to send her away, not after those words.

"Yeah, I-I know but... I..."

Peter swallowed hard and sniffed one more time.

"I miss him... "

Without hesitation, Pepper leaned over to take him in her arms and hugged him tightly, and Peter sighed, feeling engulfed by a warm feeling.

"I know sweetheart, I know. I miss him too. But trust me, it will be fine."

Seconds passed before Peter asked shyly, "Does the pain ever go?"

_It hurt too much..._

"No."

It was like a stab in his heart. Somehow, Peter expected a beautiful and peaceful lie. Maybe he wanted one, actually.

"But, again, you'll make it through. If it hurts, it means that you truly loved him. And Ben loved you more than anything."

True love or not, that wasn't bringing back Uncle Ben. It was just very painful, and because of those emotions that hurt him, Peter wished that he could turn them off — in that way, he would even be a greater vigilante. An objective one, with none Achilles' heel.

Slowly, he got away from the hug. Sad and dark thoughts haunted his mind, so he had to force himself to smile to let Pepper know that he was okay. His aunt was a lovely sunshine who didn't deserve to tarnish because of him.

"Thank you, Pepper. I feel better now."

She didn't respond. Instead, she stared at him intensely with piercing eyes, worthy of the greatest detective in the world — having Tony under her wing for so many years had probably helped - Peter understood that she was trying to read through his eyes. And that was bad since he was very bad at keeping secrets that had an emotional aspect. He had to create a diversion.

"Tony is... here?"

Pepper blinked, seemingly destabilized by his question. Maybe it was because she didn’t know what kind of hope was in her nephew's eyes: hoping that his uncle wouldn't be there, or hoping that he would. Peter couldn't even know the truth himself.

"Yes, sweetheart. He came up to the penthouse thirty minutes ago."

"Oh. T-This is nice. Yeah, very nice, uh…"

He began to play awkwardly with his sleeve when Pepper stood up; she still had a gentle smile over her face.

"Take a minute to rinse your face and join us. I made spaghetti."

Her hand ran a last time over his cheek before she left. Peter sighed and dragged himself to his bathroom. He froze when he saw his reflection.

Damn, he looked like _shit_.

Puffy and red eyes, pale skin, cracked lips... what a beautiful picture. He would be lucky if Harley won't say anything about it.

**.**

It wasn't the first time they met each other since Germany, but it was still awkward. Peter entered the living room with both of his hands buried into his pockets; Tony saw him and greeted his nephew with a clumsy smile.

"Hey, Pete, how was your day?"

_Keep your fucking words old man, why don't you turn back into your labs?_

"Was g-good... I nailed the chemistry test..." he answered as he sat down at the table. Harley was sitting in front of him.

"Of course you did."

His uncle probably noticed his red eyes, but if he did, then he didn't ask about it. Peter prefers it this way; he didn't want to explain anything.

A heavy silence settled over the minutes. Peter never looked up from his plate, willing to return to lock himself in his bedroom as soon as possible.

However, against all odds, Harley suddenly spoke.

"Hey, Dad, what about if we go together to your lab tomorrow ?"

Peter frowned. Not because he obviously wasn’t to be included in his "together" thing, but because Harley's attitude was unusual. He was nervous — Peter could feel that — and his smile was... well, not the cocky smile he usually saw on his boastful face.

Tony stopped chewing his food and was now looking like he was desperately searching his words while Peter quietly spying the scene. He tried to unravel the situation and also his uncle's behaviour. Pepper cleared her throat to get the attention.

"It's a school day tomorrow. Besides you're grounded remember?"

"We can go to his lab before dinner, and it isn't like I'll go outside the tower. C'mon Dad, tell her..."

Maybe it was sort of cruel, but the Queens' vigilante had to abstain himself to not smile. The spectacle of Harley who was almost pleading was fun.

"Sorry, bud, your mother's right," Tony finally said. "No lab for you."

That wasn't fun anymore. Even if Harley could be a dickhead, the disappointment that Peter saw through his blue eyes was heartbreaking. His cousin didn't argue back. He just turned deadly silent again. _Bravo, Tony._

The room was filled with heavy vibes again. Only the TV which was hanging on the wall of the room behind Peter made noise. The sound level was minimal, but Peter's sensitive ears could hear what the reporter was saying.

_"... four days since the last time Queens' people saw the masked vigilante."_

The concerned turned around to take a look at the screen. There was a picture of Spider-Man — this one might have been taken the last week if he remembered well.

Spider-Man was pinning a robber by his throat against a car which was parked in front of an aesthetic salon; the bags filled with dollars were already webbed on the salon's outside walls. The picture was pretty blurry, but we could easily see that the vigilante was obviously ready to punch the man over his face. Actually, Peter remembered the feeling of his jaw cracking under his hits.

Noticing the attention her nephew paid to TV, Pepper gaped with shock when she saw the news.

"Oh, Dear... Friday, turn up the sound please."

Everyone in the room was staring at the screen now. Peter felt his heartbeat go faster. _That was for him..._

"Er, I almost forgot that clown." Tony sniffed with disdain.

"Wai-... what?" Peter asked shyly with a little voice.

"How come that police still didn't catch him?" his aunt pursued.

"That moron always sneaks away before they could catch him. He's a shy one, I guess. Well... not when it comes to kicking the ass of some junior robbers."

The insinuations of his uncle were making him sick. It was the first time that his family was talking about his alter-ego. First, he felt panic rose inside him. Until now, Peter never really wondered what they were thinking about Spider-Man. He didn't expect that this could impact him _that much_. However, Tony is always ironical and snobby so maybe he shouldn't take it seriously. But somehow Peter needed to know. He slowly turned toward his uncle.

"But... doesn't he protect the city? I-I mean... well... He's... you know? Looking f-for the little g-guy..." he tried nervously.

Dammit, his stutter was waking up again — it always did that when he was anxious. His credibility suffered a lot for a few hours, Peter hoped that he wasn't blushing. Then, they were all staring at him. If he wasn't blushing a second before, he was right now, and the eyebrow that Tony raised could have been fun if it wasn't toward him. Peter squirmed with discomfort.

"Uh... 'protect'? Well, it seems like we don’t share the same definition of protecting people. The first time I heard about this guy, I thought that he was the criminal or the partner. Maybe wearing a hood doesn't help him after all... I think he should wear more pink clothes. Because I really don't know in which way he's supposed to be a protector, considering all the bodies he has let behind him."

"Tony..." Pepper warned.

"What?" he objected with his 'poor-me' eyes before his shoulders sagged. "You know what? I'm running out of patience with all those who think they can do what they please."

The lack of irony in his voice was worrying.

"I failed to stop Steve. But it won't happen again, with anyone. Trust me: this isn't that Spidey-Dark-Lord in a fucking onesie who can stop me."

Peter didn’t need to hear more, he had his answer: Iron-Man was Spider-Man’s enemy.

**.**

Peter didn't sleep well that night. His uncle's words were still in his mind. He couldn't forget the disdain that he saw in Tony's eyes when he was speaking about the Queens' vigilante — about _him_. As Spider-Man, he knew that he couldn't allow himself to be naive, nor let his emotions take precedence over his duty. Yet knowing that Iron-Man considered him as a danger was hurtful. But he didn't know if it was because behind the iron mask was his uncle, or because Iron-Man was his childhood hero. Which was it that Peter feared the most? Disappointment? And what if one day he has to fight him? Spider-Man wasn't strong enough.

His mind was torturing him, thinking about all the scenarios which could happen. Since he never had signed the Sokovia Accords, Peter could end up at the Raft, where Clint, Sam, Wanda and that weird ant-guy he saw on the TV were, before Captain America came to free them. What his family would think of him if he was like a criminal for them?

It was three in the night when Peter decided to sneak out the tower. Friday didn't say anything about it, except a joyful _"be careful, Pete"_ when he opened his window, clothed with his Spider-suit. Of course, she was programmed to alert Tony if something was happening to Harley or Peter, but the younger one had hacked her few weeks after his mutation to keep her mouth shut about his secret activities. His uncle would ever suspect him. Besides nothing was unusual: Peter never got caught.

Stuck at his bedroom's window, he was inspired deeply and closed his brown eyes before letting go. Air whipped his hooded face while he was falling, arms open wide. He wished to have a wing so he could fly. Or maybe repulsors, or boot-jets like the Iron-Man suits.

But Spider-Man was strong enough with his webs. Furthermore, he was really attached to these.

His eyes cracked open when his senses began to warn him about the imminent impact, and after this fall of nearly three hundred meters, he reached his hand forward and press the button on his palm to active the web-shooter; a white net came out and clung to the bricked wall of the skyscraper opposite, and then he was swinging peacefully through the streets.

However, for once, the neighbourhood was pretty quiet. Peter only had stopped one car theft and the robber was still crying, hanging at a street lamp by his feet.

"P-please...! Don't leave me here!"

"Do not struggle. Or the web will break. I don't think your head would appreciate it..."

Actually, it was a lie; his webs were resistant. They could bear the weight of a man if it weren't a few hundred kilos, and the knife wasn't very useful against it. But the man didn't need to know.

"The cops will be there by a few minutes I guess. Anyways, have a good night."

"Hey! Don't go, don't go!"

His voice faded as Peter began to climb away — he laughed when a picture of the robber, struggling pathetically like a piece of meat, popped in his head. He was young and skinny, one good punch was enough to teach him the lesson.

The young vigilante checked at his phone and sighed. Almost six am. It was still dark, but the sun would rise soon.

His eyes caught the sight of one special building while he was jumping from roof to roof. Peter hesitated before to smile under his mask. _Why not_? He shot webs here and there, climbed — a lot — and finally arrived at the top of the antenna of the Empire State Building. He may be breathless, but it was worth it.

The view was marvelous.

The world was so small and so big at the same time. Peter really was a _little_ spider at this moment.

He looked down and whined — bad idea. He just had climbed without think about it. Just responded to a maniac pulsion. And there he was.

Spider-Man never had to get this high before, the fall would surely kill him. As his legs were shaking he decided to sit down on the antenna. The heart of his was bumping fast, he could feel it in his chest. That was incredible. It took ten minutes, but he finally calmed down.

Peter found appeasement by being here. It was calm: no cars, no criminality, no screams, no people, no rules... just, no one but him.

_Freedom._

On his left, he could see the Avengers Tower he had left a few hours ago. It was a little bit smaller than the tower under him, but still impressive. No wonder why people thought that the Starks were cocky. Peter shrugged. He wasn't a Stark. He wasn't a part of their universe.

First sun's glows appeared over the horizon, showing a wonderful gradient of colors; yellow to a soft orange, to pink, to blue.

Yeah, Ann Darrow was right. It was really _beautiful_.

Briefly, the Queens’ vigilante desired to take off his mask so he could feel the wind against his face and eventually breath deeply this pure air, but he couldn't risked his identity though, especially when he was that exposed. Peter would be in distress if he would have to explain how he get there to his uncle. Nevertheless, he didn't know if Tony would kill him because he would discover that his nephew is the "clown" he hated so much, or because he put himself in danger by being this high. Damn, he couldn't stop thinking about it; Tony figuring out the truth.

Peter's eyes narrowed when he noticed something weird in the sky. He heard it better than saw it, but it definitely wasn't a bird. A plane? No, it was a helicopter. His ears could perceive the sound of the propeller blades. And it was coming more and more closer every minute until the teenager could see two men inside. One was driving the copter while the second one was staring at Spider-Man by his window, mouth open with astonishment.

"Oh, c'mon..." Peter winced, putting both of his gloved hands over his ears to protect them from the helicopter sounds. _It was too loud, damn..._

The Queens' vigilante didn't see any weapon, but he was still aware from any attack tentative.

Hell, he shouldn't have thought about King Kong few minutes earlier, it brought him bad luck. _How ironic_. Did he look like a monkey with his homemade suit? Peter smiled. Night Monkey wasn't that bad... but, no. Spider-Man was far better.

Slowly, Spider-Man raised up. He hesitated to take a defensive posture or not. He didn't feel his senses warn him, thus he kept a neutral position. The helicopter was about a dozen meters away, and it was now immobile in front of the antenna. Inside, the men were still staring at him with amazement.

No one dared to move or to say anything for a moment. The three of them were probably expecting from the other to do something. Peter began to feel annoyed.

"BOO!" he brutally shouted, arms up.

The helicopter didn't move from a inch but both of the men jumped with a scarred face.

"Oh my god," the teenager laughed, holding his belly "You should have see your faces!"

Sometimes he just kind of forgot that he is Spider-Man: a lot of people had already filmed him during his patrolling when he was holding a car. In his black suit, he wasn't " _just a kid_ ". Maybe it wasn't the goal, but being feared or impressed people was exciting.

"Hey dudes, no need to be scared! I'm your friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man! Here to serve you!"

He bowed gracefully and then flinched slightly, blinking when a flash dazzled him despite his goggles. It took him seconds to notice the phones that the men were holding.

 _Oh_.

They were taking pictures of Spider-Man.

The propeller palms were very loud but thanks to his sensitive ears he could still hear the happy greetings. If they knew that he was blushing... Well, Peter Parker was the shy one, but Spider-Man was the confident one. He took a look around him, hoping that it wouldn't be his last move and then he flipped. When he came back to his start point, he opened his arms as if he was in a show.

"Tadaaa."

Since they were still taking pictures and filming, Peter pursued: he did different poses for the photographies. One where he was hand-standing, one other where he was squatted with his fingers positioned in the spider-position, ready to shot webs, and a last one where he was showing boastfully his arms' muscles after having pulled his sleeves.

This time there was cameras because they do love him, and no because he was a poor orphan.

"The show's over, guys. Duty calls me."

As he couldn't just jump, he climbed down — very thankful for his sticky hands and feet. He had to be in his bedroom before seven am.

**.**

Sneak out helped Peter to have different thoughts. Actually, under his mask, he was another person. A free person. But when he had to take it off, Peter's boring life come back again and again.

He sighed as he was writing an equation on a paper, even if he was actually barely listening to his teacher. Fortunately, he was in the back of the classroom so when his mind get lost in the middle of the lesson he couldn't get caught. Without thinking about it, his fingers were holding a pen and drawing; his spider emblem, Mjölnir, Iron-Man's helmet.

"Dude, look!" Ned whispered beside him, touching his ribs with his finger.

Peter frowned as he came back to reality and turned toward his best friend who was staring at his phone's screen that he was holding under the table.

"Did you see the new publications on Instagram?! This is awesome, it's Spider-Man! He was on the Empire State Building this night! He's so cool..."

His friend's eyes were shining. Peter recognized the photos and the videos. _Yep, it was him_. And he looked fucking good in those pictures, especially with the sun rising behind him, contrasting with his black suit. The teenager repressed a smile when Ned began to write a sort of fanboy comment mainly composed of emojis. Ned always loved the vigilante, as he did with Iron-Man, Captain America, or _any_ Avengers. Peter would sure love Spider-Man too if he wasn't... well, he. Would Ned still love the hero if one day he'd discover the truth? Peter wasn't sure about it. He was very disappointing as a person. No one would imagine Peter Parker as a "super-person". Because he was _weak_.

"Ned... can I ask you, um… what is it with you and Spider-Man?"

His friend looked offended as he sharply turned his face toward him.

"Are you kidding me? Dude, he... he is... so cool! Look at his suit ! I want the same one, he's _cool_!"

"Y-Yeah, I get it, he's cool... But... you know... The clothes do not make the man. You can't judge a book by its cover."

Great, now Ned was looking more offended. Before he could answer, a new voice came from behind.

"Hey, Penis Parker, what's wrong with you ?! Everyone can't be like your precious uncle, it doesn't mean that those persons can't help people too."

They both turned to see Flash who was looking at them with an outraged expression. That was unexpected. Especially from him. However, Peter could remember having seen Flash looking a video of Spider-Man. This was... weird. Being fanboyed by his best friend was one thing, but now his childhood bully…. That was another thing.

"Is there a problem, young men?" the teacher asked.

"It's Parker, sir, he asked me about the lesson 'cause he doesn't understand anything like usual!"

For a second Peter wondered if he could stab Flash's eye with a compass and let this appear like an accident. Ned crossed his arms and frowned.

"Well Mr. Thompson, I'm giving you the opportunity to explain everything you want in a detention. Two hours Saturday."

"W-... what?! but...!"

Flash glared at Ned when he received a happy middle finger from him. MJ was a good teacher when it was about to say a proper "fuck you" to someone. Peter was amused, but inside he knew that if the man had took his defence its was because of his uncle's death. Again, he was the _weak little boy who needed help._

"He's right though, dude..." Ned whispered after a short moment. "Spider-Man helps people by fighting crimes: he's cool."

Peter wanted to ask him more, but it would be suspicious. Usually people — especially him — didn't ask for a dissertation when they want to know an opinion about a superhero. Maybe he should content with the fact that Spider-Man is perceived as a "cool" being. He really didn't want to be a villain, even if Iron-Man already thought about him this way. Except some robbers or rapers — more rarely, killers — Peter never had a real enemy to fight. It was better this way. Though he was Spider-Man: he would always have enemies.

"He killed this guy last week!" He heard with his sensitive ears while he was walking along a Midtown's corridor for the next class.

"He was a criminal anyways !"

"He could have spared his life, isn't he supposed to be a hero ? I'll tell you, _he is_ the criminal. Spider-Man is a pretext."

Peter clenched his fists. He had nothing to do with the true criminals.

"It's because he's a _mutant_..."

"... a _monster_! Can't wait for Iron-Man to shut him down for good."

The teenager suddenly stopped walking when he saw the new poster pinned up on the bulletin board in the middle of the corridor. It was a propaganda about the Sokovia Accords. Thaddeus Ross was standing proudly on the first ground, looking up like he was the truth itself. " _Evil is evil, no matter the level of the impact, and there will be always consequences for those people. That is how the world works._ " was read on a white turban. All of this above Captain America, the Winter Soldier, Black Widow, Falcon, Hawkeye, Scarlet Witch, the Hulk, and Spider-Man. They were targets. Finger-pointed. As the shame of the humanity. The evil.

Peter closed his eyes. Hero or not, he had enemies. He wasn't a friendly spider for everyone. The sooner he would admit it, the sooner he would be prepared.


	3. Unexpected Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spider-Man meets for the first time his enemies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Here the chapter 3 of "Under The Mask". 
> 
> I very enjoyed writing it, and I hope you will enjoy to read it! Thanks to alifetime for corrected the chapter :)
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own marvel's movies.

If there was one thing in particular that Peter learnt with his aunt, it was that if he doesn't go for May and the food, then it is May and the food which come for him. 

It was Sunday, twenty past eight PM, and Happy would pick him up at nine. Peter had told his aunt that he wasn't hungry and that he would be fine. So he took a shower, hoping to be alone in his room until he would return to the tower. But when he opened the door with soft and comfortable clothes on him, his hair still wet, he saw May who was sitting on the floor, surrounded with a bowl of chips, of candy, of various sorts of cereal, pasta almost burned, and salty peanuts. 

"I made dinner." 

The teenager couldn't help a huge smile. May's fake stern expression faded and she laughed while she was waving to her nephew to invite him to sit down with her. 

"No one starves in my house, you should know that young man." 

"Yeah, I do," he whispered, still smiling softly. "I failed the pasta, but, you know? -what doesn't kill us makes us stronger." 

"I can't believe that you failed the pasta. No one can fail pasta!" 

He reached for the bowl and picked some noodles with a fork — May observed quietly, chewing a cola candy as Peter put the pasta in his mouth. _Hell, why were his spider senses not warning him?!_

"Oh my god...!" he spat the food with a disgusted expression. "I nee-.. God, a tissue! _Hurry_!" 

Aunt May was giggling as she took out from her jean pocket a pack of tissues. Peter was desperately rubbing his tongue with his fingers when he could finally spit all the remainders of pasta. 

"H-How...? It’s... burned and not baked enough at the same time!" 

"I'm so sorry!" 

"You don't look like it!" 

"Indeed." She tried to take a breath through her laughs "I'm not at all." 

"Oh, okay, I see! You actually tried to kill me." 

Peter narrowed his eyes, crossing his arms. His aunt copied his posture. 

"Yep. I admit it." 

The boy faked a hurt expression as he put his hands on his chest where his heart was. 

"I knew it! My heart's broken!" 

They continued to tell jokes throughout the meal when Peter noticed that his aunt was tenderly staring at him. 

"Mh, w-what? Do I have something on my face...?" he nervously asked although he was still smiling. 

"It's just... it's good to see you smile, it's been a long time; I haven't seen you do that." 

"Oh... Yeah. I..." 

"It's okay, baby. I..." 

Her eyes were shining. 

"I'm happy. it's hard since Ben..." She sniffed. "But I'm glad you're here with me. Your smile is very precious to me." 

_Please, don’t have any hope in me._

Deep down, Peter knew that a good ending wasn't an option. He was Spider-Man: sooner or later, something would happen and it would all be over. If he didn’t die, then it would be his identity to be discovered and then May would know the truth. Peter didn't even dare to think about her gaze when it would happen — it was too painful. She was his precious aunt, the woman who had raised him with all the love in the world. He never saw any shade of hatred or anger on her face, except maybe when someone tried to affect her family, but never toward him. Never. Peter wasn't ready yet to see this. Not even Spider-Man. 

They heard someone honks three times outside — Peter checked his Stark watch and sighed. It was Happy. Before he could say anything, May pulled him tightly against her chest. The teenager closed his eyes as his aunt pressed a kiss on his curls. 

"Take care of yourself, okay? And keep an eye on your uncle for me, please." 

"Hm. Love you." 

"Love you too, baby." 

His bag was ready, thus he just put his shoes and his jacket on. After a few hugs and kisses, Peter eventually got out and walked for the black car which was parked a few meters away from the building. Happy saw him through the mirror and unlocked the backdoor — Peter heard the "click". 

"Hi, Hap'," he greeted as he sat heavily on the backseat, his bag on his knees. 

The man threw a gaze at him, suspicious. 

"Bad day?" 

"Sort of... Don't tell them." 

"You're taking drugs? Or did you kill someone?" 

Peter chocked himself with the water that he was drinking from a little bottle. 

" _WHAT?!"_

It would have been the appropriate reaction of anybody, especially from the shy little Peter Parker, so maybe it wasn't that suspicious. Though the Queens' vigilante couldn't have helped it. _God, how Happy knew?! What was he supposed to do?! Kill him?!_

"Erk...! You're wetting the sits. Whatever, I was joking. You should take a break or something. I mean it, kid." 

Peter instantly relaxed. False alarm. 

"Listen... I know this is hard for you..." 

"No, Hap', please don't..." 

"Ben died and..." 

"Goddammit, Happy, I fucking don't _want_ to hear it!" 

The car's motor hum was the only sound breaking the silence. Happy didn't look offended by the sharp tone. However, he kept throwing gazes at his boss' nephew with concern. Peter wanted first to apologize, but he didn't. 

Through his life, people always speak about him by using his past, and all of his losses. First, his parents, although he didn't remember their faces. And then Ben. Again, this was what they all thought they saw in his eyes. He just wanted to move on. And nobody was helping him through this. 

"Please..." he began, softer, "stop looking at me." 

Happy hesitated but obeyed. 

He was _alone_. But it was better this way. 

**.**

Tensions accumulated in his muscles over the next hours; the night didn't help him to calm his nerves. Pepper had greeted her nephew when he entered into the penthouse — Tony was there too on the balcony, holding a glass of wine. Peter had rolled his eyes through the glass-wall, though when his uncle smiled at the teenager when he saw him, he just kept walking. And again, he didn't sleep well. His mutation sometimes helped him to heal, to be more resistant, but if he was weakened then his powers could be less effective; if they didn't disappear entirely. It never happened, but Peter could feel it — he _knew_ it. 

Nevertheless, sometimes, he just needed to romp. Spider-Man hadn't shown himself for days, so it was time to kick the ass of some criminals. Or just swing around for hours without putting one foot on the ground. The simple thought of being clothed with his spider suit made him shaking during class; his eyes stayed focused on the hands of the clock until the ending ring. When it finally — _finally_ — happened, Peter almost jumped up from his seat and ran for the door, just after telling to Ned that he was simply hurrying. 

As the homemade suit was already inside his bag, Peter didn't stop to his locker and went for the nearest exit instead. 

"Peter!" 

The teenager turned his head toward his cousin who was trying to clear a path through the student crowd. 

"Where you're going? Happy's here..." Harley said, pulling out lazily one earphone. 

"Uh... Out? Tell Hap' I'll be fine, I have something to do with Ned." 

The older shrugged, not concerned, and went away to the principles doors, where Happy and the reporters should be. _Good, it would be a perfect diversion_ , Peter thought. He just had to hide with the other students and get out without being noticed – and that was his speciality. 

When he finally managed to sneak outside, he ran for several minutes until he dodged into a deserted alley. Since his senses didn't warn him of anything, he began to undress hastily to put on his suit. Still, Peter looked around quickly before putting on his black hood — _could never be sure_. 

Before anything else, he took care of deactivating the tracer in his watch — even if it was only four PM, there was no need for Tony or Pepper to know where he was. Then he gained momentum and jumped to a wall at a ten meters higher away. 

Spider-Man was back! 

**.**

"NO! OH MY GOD, HELP ME! SOMEONE!" 

The vigilante rolled his eyes as the man was struggling against his grip. He was so loud that Peter was tempted to kill him for good, just to have peace. 

_But not yet_... He needed a lesson. 

Thus he kept climbing while he was holding the man by his ankle. When he reached a height he deemed acceptable, he turned his back on the brick wall and held out the hand which held the man's limb forward. The screams became desperate. Peter whined, rubbing one of his ears through the hood. His feet were stuck on the building, as was his back. 

"It's too high! It's too high!" 

Spider-Man laughed. Actually, they weren't even on a skyscraper — it was just a simple building, and they were at fifteen meters from the ground — people from the ground were taking photo, calling the police, or screaming. 

"Oh, come on. There's nothing to be scared about. Unless you've been a bad boy. Wait... Why are you here yet? Mh?" 

"P-please... I-I... I don't now w-w-what you're t-talking about...!" 

"W-w-w-well, you should." he mocked "But I'm gonna refresh your memory." 

He opened his hand, the man fell with an awful scream. Peter hesitated briefly but he eventually shoots a web to catch him before he could hit the floor. 

He let his prisoner hang for ten seconds before pulling his web with his other hand until he could grab the man's collar. 

"So. Did it help?" 

"Let me g-go…" 

"C’mon. Admit it." 

"O-okay... listen, dude, I... I was just staring at her, nothing bad..." 

First tears appeared while Peter was slowly releasing the grip. 

"Please..." 

"You know, I meet assholes like you every day. And you know what? I’m beginning to lose my patience with people like you." 

Since the man's lips were sealed, the vigilante pursued: 

"You fucking rapist! You were following her for two miles through the city! Even a blind person, without seeing your filthy grin, could have seen what were your intentions were! People like you make me sick. We both know what you would do to that poor woman if I hadn't shown up." 

He heard the man swallowed hard. What should he do with him? Beat him until he collapses, his body bleeding? Break every limb of him? Throw him into a river? 

"Drop him." 

He had been so deep in thought that he hadn't heard the sound of the repulsors approaching. However, he recognized this voice perfectly without had saw him: robotic and stern. Peter slowly raised his hooded head. 

_Iron-Man_. 

Iron-Man. _The_ fucking Iron-Man, like his uncle. Here. Facing Spider-Man. 

It was as if time has stopped. Peter wished he could have put the situation on hold to have more time to think and get out of his torpor. But it wasn't the case. He knew he had to act, or say something and not be petrified like a doe in front of the headlights. However, he didn't expect that. He should have, especially since he knew that Iron-Man was after him. Yet something inside him never wanted to consider this scenario. 

Spider-Man flinched when Iron-Man raised an iron gauntlet toward him, showing a charged repulsor. 

"Last warning: let him go." 

It couldn't be the end. His uncle would arrest him. Peter _knew_ him. 

A vicious smile spread over the teenager face behind his mask. This is where were his advantage; he knew the man under the iron suit. He just had to use his brain for now. 

"As you wish." 

Once again he let go the man. 

"Wai-! Fuck...!" his uncle yelled. 

Tony immediately went for the guy. Peter took his chance. It was now or never. 

He started to climb away as far as possible. Escaping was the only way to be safe for the day. So he shot a net of web on a neighbouring building and swung along a large street. He repeated the same action for the next two minutes before wincing when his ears recognized the sound of his uncle's repulsors; he was chasing him, of course. The thing was that Peter knew that Iron-Man was fast. _Very fast_ . Spider-Man hasn’t got technology by his sides. And right now, the vigilante was _scared_. He could lose everything today. 

The avenger was getting closer from him. He understood that trying to escape by advancing in a straight line would not help him because it was only a matter of seconds before his opponent caught up with him. Since speed wouldn't help, Peter had to either hide or fight him. And he was definitely not prepared to take on Tony, so there was only the first solution left. But then again, he had to be clever. Iron-Man could track it over long distances — even see through walls. 

Peter suddenly changed direction; he moved his body, shoot some webs; he was now swinging toward Iron-Man. The concerned didn't have time to analyze his movement and therefore passed him which left Spider-Man a short time to be able to go away in the opposite direction. 

Maybe he wasn't ready yet to fight him. Maybe he would ever be. But it didn't mean that Spider-Man couldn't attack. 

As he was looking for something to throw at his uncle to slow him down, he realized that he couldn't hear him anymore. Panicked and surprised, he looked over his shoulder. Tony was not behind him anymore. It was strange. Peter narrowed his eyes before widened them when all his senses went crazy, and only one word was in his mind: _danger._ He barely got enough time to cross his arms before his face to protect himself from Iron-Man who had gone through a window just beside him. Obviously, the man had all the plans of the city inside his helmet. _Cheater_ , Peter thought as he fell on a building's roof. He groaned in pain as the gravel entered his suit while he rolled for several meters — he could feel his elbows open bloody under the impact of the fall. 

_Damn..._

Peter was now laid on his belly, right cheek pressed against the dusted gravel and the dark sand, and eyes closed. All of his body was painful and scratched. Take a whole Iron-Man on the face was _not_ funny. 

A " _bump_ " echoed a few seconds after. The teenager recognized the robotic sounds of the iron suit joints. 

"Sorry for that, underoos. But you didn't let me other options." 

He wanted to cry. It was like he was seven, fooling around with Harley. Tony always had a special tone when he was grounding the boys: stern, but... in a _fatherly_ way. However, this time, he wasn't a little boy. His uncle wouldn't just send him to his room. 

For a moment, Peter expected to be hit, or hear Tony approach — even call for the cops. Instead, he found as he was raising his head from the ground that his uncle was seated on a concrete little wall that formed the edge of the building. His senses weren't awake either. He swallowed and slowly got on his feet, his hands rubbing briefly his clothes to remove the dirt. If he was hurt, the adrenaline didn't let him feel that. Peter was too focused on every movement of Iron-Man. 

Spider-Man took some steps away from the man, even if it was futile. He could feel his heart going crazy under his chest, almost hurting him. 

The sure thing was that he couldn’t just take off his mask and reveal his identity; if Tony already knew who he was, he wouldn't be that serene. So Peter had to find a way to not be demasked. First: his voice. As shitty as his uncle was with the family bonds, he would still recognise his nephew's voice. 

"What do you want from me, old man?" he snapped after have cleared his throat to make his tone deeper than usual. 

Despite all the will in the world, he couldn't stop the nervous posture. He clenched his hands to not let his uncle see his fingers shaking. He didn't want Iron-Man to think that Spider-Man was weak. 

"You're special, aren't you? It can't be your suit. Well, not for the strength: I saw you lift cars, stop a bus, or beat down big guys like it was a game. You're special, and you know it. You're doing something with all of this. I understand. I'm not judging you." 

Tony was calm, but Peter still wanted to run away. Though, he was now curious about what Iron-Man could say to him. If he had wanted to catch him, they would be fighting right now, and no talking. 

"I'm not here to hurt you, and I don't want to. But I will if you try something stupid." 

Something deep inside him burned up at his words. The teenager, however, couldn't make out whether it was fear, sadness or anger. But it was certain that Peter was revolted to be indirectly threatened. Who was Iron-Man to do this? _How dare he?_

His feelings were confused. 

And he hadn't any clue about what is the best way to react with this situation. 

"Maybe you want attention: people to care about you. Maybe your mom is dead and you want to avenge her. Maybe you just want to have fun. And you know what? I don't care. Drama stories never attracted me, so I'm not going to force you to explain why or how." 

The vigilante was destabilized, although he didn't show it. It was one thing to face Iron-Man, but it was another thing to experience his sarcasm for the first time. Tony didn't use this on family or friends unless it was a reciprocal game. It was weird to be a stranger — an enemy. His uncle didn't see the good little Peter in him, but Peter saw Tony in front of him. The fight was inequitable in advance. Because if knowing the man inside the armour was an advantage, it was also a disadvantage. 

"However!" Tony began with an exaggerated tone, raising his finger up "There are rules. Laws." 

"Cut the crap." 

"Calm down, underoos." 

Peter already hated the nickname. Tony always did that when he couldn't remember the name of someone, so it was a way to not be rude. Or it was a way to let people know that he didn't even bore himself to remember their name. In other words, like the middle finger of MJ, that was how Tony Stark showed himself as an incredible disrespectful asshole. 

"I guess you’ve heard about the Sokovia Accords?" 

He nodded. 

"Good. So you're aware of the fact that let bodies behind you is not allowed, even for a 'superhero'. Even if you think that it's fair. 'Cause here the thing: you have no right to decide who deserve to live, or die. You're not the justice, underoos." 

Now it was anger which made his hands shake. 

Spider-Man wasn't someone who claimed to be something that he wasn't. He wanted to stop these people - like the one who killed Ben - because it never would be the Avengers who were going to intervene in this business. Little citizens could die as long as there were only a few. Everyone would forget them. _But Peter never forgot Ben_. 

"The Sokovia Accords were made to protect people from people in existential crisis mood. Like you." 

_The only point of this shit is the control_. 

"Actually, they apply for all the special beings. Including the Avengers. _This_ is fair: no exceptions. Though I don't think that the perfect world exists, you know, with everyone happy, everyone is friendly, where there is rainbows, unicorns, yadda, yadda, yadda." Tony waved in the air, almost annoyed by the speech "But it's obvious that this world can't exist anyways with people who do what they please, or who destroy everything around them according to their own vision of justice." 

Peter wished he could argue back. To finally be able to express everything he felt about these damned accords. However, he remained petrified. Iron-Man seemed to feel his distress because his next words were softer. 

"You're young. You don't need to end behind bars for the rest of your life because you didn't do the good things." 

Would Tony let him go to the Raft if he knew who Spider-Man really was? Would Steve would come to save him if he ends up arrested? Peter didn't want to go away. 

"Take off your mask off underoos, it's over. Sign the accords, and reveal your identity." 

_No. Not like this. Not now._

He took a step back while Iron-Man watched him closely. Peter was trapped, the escape would not help him and he knew it. The vigilante could feel his heartbeat racing and his breath becoming faster under the effect of panic. He felt like he was trapped in his own body too. Peter refused to give up Spider-Man, but he also refused to confront the man in front of him. 

"N-No... I... No. No! I refuse." 

Despite his fear, he managed to keep a confident attitude. Tony stayed silent for a few seconds. Maybe they were both too confident after all, Peter thought. His uncle didn't expect and didn't like - rejection. 

"Er. Uh... Actually you..." he cleared his throat, almost in a funny way "You do _not_ have choice. Take off your mask." 

A laugh escaped him. It was sudden, and out of control. Peter would have liked an explanation or have any control over this, but he continued to laugh. It was... insane. Crazy. 

His nerves were finally letting go and there was nothing he could do about it. He had been holding back it for too long. His mutation, his powers, Ben, his own and first crimes, the Civil War, and now his uncle who appeared innocently in front of him to ask him to obey the rules. Him, Tony Stark. It didn't make any fucking sense. It was like someone was trying to do a bad joke. So Peter did the only thing he could: laugh. 

It probably had something to do with his mutant senses, but Peter could feel Tony's patience evaporate over time; he even seemed to be pissed off with the laughs. 

_Good_.

"Wait, oh god I can't breath!" he laughed as he waved at his uncle, briefly turning his back to him. 

"I hope this is because you're deeply relieved that I'm actually saving you from the American army." 

It took over a minute to Peter to finally calm down. His laughs died and, slowly, he turned toward Iron-Man. If the man could have seen the eyes of the teenager, then he could have seen all the hatred burning inside them. However, Spider-Man's aura was eloquently threatening. Peter knew that Tony was on his guard. 

"Do you think I've been through all of this to end up like a dog of the government? Like _you_." 

Peter voluntarily emphasised on the "you". Apparently it didn't pleased to the avenger since he sharply rose up in a threatening posture too. 

"Caution," Tony warned, "I advise you to pick the words you'll use carefully from now." 

"Yeah, I know. You don't like when people doesn't obey you. You don't like when people don't applaud and greet you as if you were a God. So when someone challenges you, or dare to have a divergent opinion, you shout and hit your fist on the table. That's how it works, right? Because everyone knows that the great Iron-Man is always right! He never makes any mistake! His words are gold and truth! But the truth is you're just a hypocrite. You are a child who does stupid things and who understands only too late that there are consequences. Daddy Ross spanked you, and now you're ready to do anything to forget that you're a murderous bastard!" 

The iron suit's tremors didn't escape Peter, however slight they were. He understood that he had hit the nail on the head. 

"You are even ready to kill your friends." 

And now he had hit where it hurt. 

"As you wish." the man said coldly. 

No matter what Peter had spawned, it was too late to take it back. 

Something was happening. 

He let his senses and all of his instincts take the step on his reflexion: he moved forward, knowing that it wouldn't be the one who attacks first, then Iron-Man would be. And Spider-Man wasn't enough against the iron opponent's tech. He shot webs on the armour’s plastron so he could drag his uncle near him. Tony didn't expect that the vigilante would be the offensive one then it gave Peter the advantage over Iron-Man again. 

For the first time Tony Stark could confront the spider's strength. However, if he was surprised he didn't show it. 

Instead he used his feet’s repulsors to lift himself on the airs; Peter pulled stronger, trying to take him back down, but Iron-Man raiser both of his hands toward the mutant before to shot. Without thinking, Spider-Man dodged the attack by dropping the webs which came out of his web-shooters and by throwing himself on the side to make a roll. Immediately afterwards he was on his feet, and he ran to approach the man who was still destabilized with his balance and the propelling force which he had put in his repulsors. Tony saw it coming and decided to take high. Peter frowned — his uncle didn't know enough about his adversary’s abilities to risk a melee, so it was smart of him to stay out of reach, especially considering the strength of Spider-Man. The teenager had to hit physically if he wanted to have a chance, he couldn't fight long against bullets or explosives. For now, the avenger was in a better position. 

He would have liked to have more technology on his side, be it better armour, or better web-shooters. By default, his webs were neither too thick nor too thin; they could withstand certain shocks but not indefinitely — sometimes he himself needed to break or cut his webs to adapt to a situation. Peter had a great imagination and he knew he could make great improvements if he had a real laboratory. However, this wasn’t the case which left him less chance against Iron-Man. Right now, he wishes he could have grenade webs, electric webs, or be capable of launching hard and compact webs like stones. 

"You chose the fight. We could have been allies, underoos." 

Two small cannons appeared on the man's epaulettes, both — no larger than a pistol cannon — aimed at Peter. Spider-Man stopped his course, trying to figure out what was going on with this. Tony's nephew or not, he didn't fully know the competences of his suit, especially since the man constantly brought in new things, or improvements — that's what he did during nights. 

"Now you have an enemy." 

His words were hurtful. He didn't have time to lament or to regret his choices, because his senses became restless again. First, he tried to dodge the danger, but he quickly realized that it was too late; Iron-Man had just launched two nets, one on the left and one on the right to be able to catch the vigilant whatever the side by which he would have tried to run away from. 

A scream came out from the teenager’s mouth as the net was trapping him down. Of course, it wasn't made of rope, he thought, trying to break it. Tony was observing, a gauntlet still raised toward Spider-Man. 

Fortunately, the net wasn't made of vibration or something like that: actually the avenger didn't have specific clue about his real strength, and Peter knew that fact too. 

The mutant's fingers wrapped around the metallic net and began to pull. Peter clenched his teeth; he guessed it probably had been made with an aluminium or steel alloy. Resistant, but not in sufficient quantity to stop its superhuman strength though. It didn't take long before the metal began to creak and fold under the pressure. 

It was a scary feeling to know that Spider-Man had never been so close to being captured as at this moment, especially by Iron-Man himself — his own uncle. 

With a last effort, he eventually broke the metallic strings. Tony grumbled something barely audible and went for the vigilante who was crawling out from the broken net. The younger one managed to stand up just in time and he let his fighting mind act for him: Peter punched his uncle. Hard. 

If Peter had to explain exactly what had happened, then he couldn't have. He was unable to say whether he had put all his strength or not. However, he was deeply marked and shocked by the vision of Iron-Man which was propelled several meters away and which was embedded in the low wall of the roof, accompanied by a groan of pain despite his reinforced suit. Something knotted in his throat and in his belly and made him suddenly want to throw up while he was petrified in front of the scene. The teenager knew that Tony was neither dead nor seriously injured because he was still moving on the ground. He was already recovering despite the force of the blow. But just knowing he was the one who did it made him sick, because this man was his family. Peter shouldn't be hurting him, even if he was disappointed and angry with him. 

Shame, disappointment, regret, and guilt. It was what made him want to bury himself and disappear underground. 

No matter what beautiful, encouraging, and motivating words had emerged in his mind a few minutes earlier, he was now unable to move. All his courage was gone. It was just Peter and his fear. 

"Ouch..." Iron-Man grumbled, "that wasn't nice." 

Peter gulped audibly as Tony rose to his feet, a hand pressing against his helmet. And before he could move Iron-Man shot at him with his gauntlet. The younger let a surprised squeak when he was thrown back, his chest burned superficially on the left side. Peter hadn't listened to his senses because he was focused on his heart. 

Spider-Man moaned under the effect of the pain while he tried to roll on his side and get up. His sweat-suit was torn where the beam of energy had hit, he could even smell the burned skin which made the teenager nauseous. 

A foot on his back stopped him. 

"I warned you. Now don't move... It'll hurt only for a second." 

_Wha-...?_

Peter checked his fear over his shoulder and blanked when he saw Tony's palm letting out a sort off little pipe. He knew what was going on. His uncle wanted to catch him, and he was going to do that by sedate him, so he could do this without any damage or effort. Peter didn't even know if it would work on him, but he definitely didn't want to try it. He couldn't let it happen. He _couldn’t_! 

Suddenly, acting one last time by instinct, he turned in a quick and brisk movement he spread away Tony's offensive wrist, taking advantage of his imbalance. His free arm immediately wrapped around his left thigh, and he used his strength to force Iron-Man to crash to the side next to him. In his fall he kicked Peter's skull, who groaned in pain. _Damn_ … _!_

Obviously, the man was already trying to get up but Spider-Man was faster; he activated his web-shooters and completely covered Tony's iron face with webs to blind him. 

Now he had a way out. _Only now_. _Quick_. 

Iron-Man was trying to remove the webs from his helmet as Peter ran to the edge and jumped. This time he swung away for one or two kilometres before sneaking into an apartment like a shadow and leaving it with a stolen jacket which he put on out of sight before hiding himself in the crowd once his mask removed. Peter kept his injured head down and hoped that his curls hid his face enough not to be spotted despite the fact that he limped slightly. 

_What a shitty day._

**.**

Hours passed slowly. Likewise for the daylight which disappeared as Peter walked through the city. 

It was eight PM now. He should have been home a long time ago. His watch beeped regularly every time he received a message or a call. Peter never checked them. 

The Queens' vigilante sighed as he turned in the deserted alley that he had entered a few hours earlier. His bag was still there, hidden with half-dissolved webs and... other stuff which could lead people to give up approaching it. Peter had deactivated the tracker that had been put in his phone too, so there was no chance that Tony or Happy could find him. They were going to kill him. His uncle, Pepper, May and the bodyguard of the family were all going to kill him. Peter wasn't the kind of sneaking out. Well, not officially at least. 

He hesitated for a minute before putting on his hood and throwing the stolen jacket on the ground. Anyway, he was going to get punished, so he would make it worth it. In addition, he still had frustration to evacuate despite the aching muscles and the pain head. He had two web-capsules left in his pocket, one for each web-shooters, thus he could stay outside for a few hours. 

"Fuck this..." he grumbled, swinging through New-York. 

It was like his veins were boiling with anger. He felt weak. And disappointed by himself to not have been able to confront Iron-Man. It should have been 'the moment of his life' because he had an opportunity to prove himself in front of his favourite avenger, but instead he turned around and escaped like a coward. Because he had been afraid. Sentimental. 

Spider-Man was nothing like Iron-Man or Captain America. Maybe he should just admit it – the fact that he was a little spider in the shadow, risking to be killed if he dares to show himself into the light of the true heroes. But… was he a hero? Peter sniffed, lost in his thoughts as he swung away from the Stark Tower. 

The vigilante continued to swing until he couldn't remember well the neighbourhood where he was. 

All around him were houses. Beautiful and luxury houses, actually. 

His sensitive ears perceived musical pulsations from a near street. _It could be a party_... Peter didn't focus on it. Instead, he walked cautiously, trying to not be noticed. Now it was almost eleven at the night — no one was outside, except him. Hopefully, even if it was cruel to think this way, there might be a burglary tonight to allow him to have some fun. Actually, it would be great. Maybe a shooting star had passed at the same time because he saw through a window of a house a purple light dazzling the walls for seconds. _What the_... A shiver shook his body. _Warning_. 

There was something about this place... 

Peter shivered again when he felt those strange radiations coming from the house. It was new and unknown. But it didn't make him renounce to his goal. 

Thanks to his enhanced vision, he took a look to the inside of the living-room through a window without having to be near to it. Hooded men were inside, moving fast, ransacking. As the wasn't any alarm activated or any sign of the police, Peter guessed that the security had been hacked or broken. 

Besides, he didn't see a car parked in the alley, and all the stores were closed down. The owners weren't home. 

Good. There could be screams, soon. 

Spider-Man slowly approached the house, his eyes locked on the weird purple lights he could sometimes see, then he entered into the house by the door which was open — or at least unlocked. Breaking another window would have been too loud, and would have killed his surprise effect. 

Keeping a flawless discretion, he climbed on the walls until being sticked to the ceiling, then he crawled slowly to the living room. The place was dark, but nothing escaped his mutant eyes. 

He stopped his movements when he could finally see four men in total striving on a safe hidden in a wall which covered it had been throw away on the ground. All the thieves had a classic robber appearance, with a flashlight, a crowbar, and a black hood, however, there was something new. And that's where the unpleasant aura came from. Peter's eyes narrowed when he saw shades of purple energy appear and disappear from it. It looked like weapons, kind of shotgun with iron grips, although the vigilante had never seen something like them before. _Was_ _it_ _new technology? What could they do_? 

"Hey! Forget the password?" Peter suddenly spoke at the masked man who was staring at the safe. 

The best defence is attack, after all. Spider-Man let himself fall until his feet could touch the floor; everyone in the living-room turned toward him, with gasps, and Peter would have liked to have seen their face right now. 

Usually he would throw some childish jokes to have a little fun with the thieves, but he was still too pissed off by his previous fight with Iron-Man for that. All he wanted to do was hit something, or someone until his hands were so sore that he couldn't move his fingers for at least a few hours. 

_Let's start..._

Without warning he shot webs at the nearest man and pulled; the robber fell back as he was dragged and his head bumped hard on the wooden ground. 

Knowing that the man was going to be half knocked down by the blow received on the head, Peter was able to concentrate on the three other burglars who finally came out of their torpor and advanced towards him, weapons ready to fire in hand. With a quick gesture, he grabbed the barrel of one of these strange weapons and aimed it up before the bullet could injure him. Blue lights flashed as the man struggled against Spider-Man's grip and a piece of the ceiling suddenly came off. The vigilante had could kick the third man on the stomach which propulsed him back right to the TV before jump on the side to avoid rubbles that hit the robber who was holding the blue weapon. _Ouch_... Well, this one wasn't on the course anymore if Peter trusted the spreading blood he saw beside his head. 

"JON! You son of a b-..." 

Spider-Man didn't let the guy finish his sentence and he struck him on the nose. An audible _crack_ resounded as the man shouted while he backed away, a trembling hand on his hood. 

The one who was knocked out a few seconds earlier began to moan, rubbing his head. Peter put his foot on his belly and pushed down. 

"How did you get this tech?" 

Peter didn't like its vibrations. He glanced at one of those weapon that was laying on the floor, shining. 

"Ugh... Let us go..." 

He pressed harder and a rib broke. 

"GUAAAAH! You're sick mother-fucker...!" 

"Hell, what is it with you guys and my mother?" 

Maybe he could bring one of those weapons back to the tower to study it a bit? Friday, however, would risk reporting the presence of this technology before he even returned with it. But one thing was for sure: he couldn't just leave this technology here. Peter felt it was dangerous. His senses made him sick, they were too excited. 

The man he had hit in the nose ran towards him after taking out a knife from his pocket. Peter gave him an annoyed look although his opponent couldn't see him, and with a few nimble movements, he avoided the attack and grabbed the man by the back of his jacket so he could throw him towards the window. Fortunately for the guy, they were on the first floor, so he landed on the grass just outside the house, covered with pieces of glass. 

The last remaining up thief appeared to be activating the second weapon they had brought with them. Peter smiled behind his hood. What an idiot ... he hasn't learned the lesson yet? 

As he felt an imminent danger preparing, he wanted to dodge. But he couldn't. Something stopped him: _pain._

Spider-Man groaned, staggering. He remembered the fight with his uncle. His chest was still sore from the burn, but the worst was definitely his head. It rung painfully, and he could no longer focus on the man in front of him. 

Blue and purple lights swallowed him. 

_Ugh...! It's weird, it's weird, it's weird...!_

The ground seemed to fall under his feet. No, he was flying. And it felt like he couldn't breathe. Peter gnashed his teeth and glared deadly at the man. He held out his hand, ready to use his webs, when he was violently thrown against a wall. A crater appeared, and before he could fall to the ground Peter was lifted again into the air and thrown against the opposite wall. 

If he hadn't had his superhuman strength and resistance, the adolescent was aware that he would surely no longer be conscious. He might even be dead, given the force of the collisions. 

"You... you filthy mutant! There's no place in this world for something like you!" 

_Mutant_. 

"You're a fucking freak!" 

Peter tried to stand up despite his shaking limbs and his head which was hurting him like hell. But, again, his feet didn't touch the floor anymore. The teenager opened his mouth, wanting to scream out his anger and his pain, but nothing came out. It was the second time in the same day that he had been on the brink of defeat. A deep feeling of humiliation rumbled in him. He wanted to cry. It wasn’t worthy of Spider-Man. What was happening to him…? 

_Why was h_ _e_ _doubting?_

Seized with a powerful will to fight — and to win — he opened his eyes wide and used his webs. The first on the thief's hood, as he had done a few hours earlier on Iron-Man, and the second on his strange weapon to try to snatch it from his hands. 

"Damn! Let me go!" 

Spider-Man was not supposed to struggle with a simple human. He was supposed to be stronger. But this technology destabilized him. He had to escape. _Now_. 

Without thinking he took advantage of the man's blindness and shot other webs on his weapon to try to deactivate or break it. Though maybe fluids got inside because it started to smoke. Aware of this, the thief ripped off his hood with rage, not worrying about exposing his face to the Spider-Man, and he sent him to a wall — _again._ The wall which was separating living-room from kitchen. Peter got through it with a painful scream. 

_And something was wrong, something was so wrong...!_

He heard footsteps precipitating, a door opening, and then nothing but him and his breath. 

Something was _wrong_. 

Rubbles were covering his body, as were dirt and dust from the wall. Everything hurt. He sniffed and slowly, very slowly, took a look at his belly. 

"H-Ho, god..." 

Blood. _His_ blood. 

"No, no, no....!" 

For a moment he saw nothing but a blur as if his mind was trying to correct his awful vision. 

An iron bar had crossed its right flank. At least, that's what he had first thought. In reality, he had been deeply cut by the bar, about three centimetres transversely. The impact had been so strong, Peter could still feel it in his aching muscles. The thought of his body cut in half appeared in his head and made him nauseous. It didn't help his anxiety. 

Peter Parker had many uncertainties in his life. However, he was certain of one thing: he wanted to live. 

He had never been so injured before. No one had beaten Spider-Man. Not until today. He felt anaesthetized, and the thought scared him even more: it was not a good sign. If he stayed there, he would be discovered. Tony would learn the truth, and he would be so disappointed with him. The teenager did not want to give this last image of him, pathetic and wounded to death. Weak. 

_Weak, weak, weak._

Although he was not really in pain except for his aching muscles, the vigilante moaned softly. Tears soaked his hood and so did the blood that escaped his nose. 

"It's a nightmare..." 

He tried to move and then screamed before he could think about it. 

"No... I-I can't... I...." 

_I need to breathe._

It wasn't the time to let himself go. No time for tears, or for being weak. It would be the end of everything. Even if he just wanted to lay here and wait until someone — _anyone_ — would come and find him, he had to move. 

A great inspiration brought him a little courage while he crawled on his left to move away from the bar which was still cutting his right side. Blood began to flow freely once the bar was out of his body. Peter turned pale as the red liquid soaked his black sweatshirt. For a second, he thought he was going to pass out. And maybe that's what happened because he realized that his head was on the floor despite not remembering laying there. The world around him was blurred, blackened and doubled. 

_I want to sleep…_

The scene must had been pathetic to watch. Spider-Man, crawling on the ground and rising as slowly as a snail; his clothes were dirty and tattered, bloody, and his movements were lame or shaky. 

Damn, he was so screwed. He should be home, he was so late... if he didn't die, they would kill him. 

Now all was painful. He couldn't think about something else than the pain. 

Nevertheless, he managed to get out. There was no sign of police cars, but even if there would have, Peter couldn't focused enough to hide himself or to sneak out somewhere safe. He was walking in the middle of the street. 

The world turned all around him. _Where was his home?_

Peter looked at his gloved palm and of course, he saw blood on it. He was losing too much of it. _Where was he?_

Shivers shook his body. Everything was cold. Maybe he should have stay laid right there, dying. He was so sleepy. The houses were the same. The street had no end. Was he walking, though? He should call Ben. He would come with his car to pick him up. Then Peter would finally go to his bed. With no harm, no pain, no blood. 

"Oh my god! Spider-Man...?!" 

This voice... he knew it. He knew the owner. 

Listening forced him to come back to reality. He blinked and slowly looked up. The world had stopped spinning, however, his ears hissed. 

Of all the people in the world, it was _that_ idiot. 

Flash Thompson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things start to get serious...  
> All comments are welcome! I think a chapter would be posted about every two weeks.
> 
> Take care of you! 
> 
> _Lufna_


	4. Meet Flash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After his confrontation with Iron-Man and the burglars, Spider-Man is now face to face with Flash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here the chapter 4, I hope you'll enjoy it!
> 
> Thanks to my beta reader, alifetime !
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the marvel movies.

The world was ringing around him. 

Peter was aware of his appearance; it wasn’t a good look in the middle of the street. Covered with blood — _his blood_ — and half-conscious. Tremors were shaking his sore body. 

He wanted to sleep; to lie on the floor and close his eyes. However, he could not. His superhuman abilities were the pillar that kept him awake, and Peter had to use the remaining energy of him to leave this place before the police arrived.

Truly, it was a shitty situation. The Queen’s vigilante couldn't remember being in such a critical context before. But it was happening. And of all the people he could have met at this moment, it was Flash: his childhood bully. Fate was definitely against him tonight. Or it was a very bad joke. 

"O-Oh my god...! I can't believe... Spider-Man! It's you!"

Peter could have thought it funny if he weren't half-dead — Flash was fanboying over him. It confirmed the doubts he had had the previous day in class when he took the defence of the vigilante. But it didn't matter right now, because Flash was currently an obstacle for him. Peter had to find a way to get rid of the young man in front of him or he might have other problems. He had to go, he had to hide... _to sleep_...

Giddiness made him stumble as he was waving at Flash who was a few meters before him like he was a fly. 

His thoughts weren’t clear anymore. Peter heard the other boy better than he could see him. Flash had his phone in his hand — _please, no picture, no picture..._

Spider-Man moaned and stepped back when a vivid light blinded him.

 _Awesom_ e, just awesome. Maybe he should kill him, after all, the robbers would be charged for it. Though his thoughts were winded; Peter couldn't just kill Flash like this. He was an asshole, sure, but it didn't mean he should die for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. 

Spider-Man sighed, rubbing rotely at his head through his hood. 

"Sorry for the flash, Mr. Spider-Man! By the way, my name is..." The teenager laughed nervously, still smiling widely. "Flash."

 _Actually it's Eugene..._ Peter thought while he started to walk forward despite his sore muscles. His body was screaming in pain. If he stayed here, he would _die_. 

"N-nice to meet you, I-... Oh shit! You... You're bleeding! Wait, wait... where are you going? You’re hurt...!"

It was kind of funny to see him so anxious. _Where are your words, dipshit?_

The vigilante came out of the shadow of the street and his body was lit by the lights of the lampposts. His dark clothes didn’t hide blood, holes, or dust. It was surely a pathetic sight that Spider-Man offered to his... _well, biggest fan_. Anyway, he hadn't asked to undergo all of that, and if there was a faulty one to pick then it was Iron-Man. He's the one who made his day hellish. Even if accusing someone was not going to help him, it relieved him at least a little. Anger still boiled in him. He felt like a dog coming back home with its tail between its legs.

"That's... that's a lot of blood..." Flash said as he was turning pale, his eyes locked on Spider-Man's flank injury.

"... Ju-... st go..."

His voice was low and broken; he realized that even speaking was painful, but at least Flash couldn't recognize his voice. Peter didn't have the energy to get into his role. Briefly, he wondered what he could look like physically after that day. He must have been far from the image of the proud and powerful Queens vigilante. 

He closed his eyes, trying to focus on his goal: hide. And fucking sleep. Flash hesitated for a long time before placing a trembling hand on Spider-Man's shoulder when he walked to his level, still trying and wanting to get out of here. At first, Peter didn't react. The truth was he didn't even notice the hand because everything was fuzzy.

"Uh... You seem to be barely conscious, maybe you should go to a hospital... I can help you!"

_Oh, no. No way._

He was right. Everything was going to end because he had the bad luck to come across this idiot at the worst possible time. If he went to the hospital, it would be the end of Spider-Man.

If he'd go there, Tony would figure out the truth. Not only him but his whole family, including the avengers and his friends. And then... everyone. The face of Ross popped in his head and Peter could feel the panic rising inside him. A life behind the bars was what was waiting for him if he let his identity be discovered. 

The vigilante kept walking until he could finally notice Flash's hand over his shoulder which was trying to hold him in place. Peter frowned. 

"Mr. Spider-Man, I think you really need to go to a hospital. "

"No."

Another resistance on his shoulder.

"Let me help you." The teenager tried again.

This time Peter grabbed Flash by his collar and lifted him until his feet couldn't touch the ground.

"You don't know what I need! If you want to help me, then go fuck yourself in hell!"

It was rude, but he would finally get some peace thanks to this. Besides, Flash had no idea what he was getting himself into. Helping Spider-Man wasn't a good idea since the Sokovia Accords, Peter guessed as he was shaking his childhood hero in a menacing way. 

"I... I will not go to the hospital... They'll kill me... And..."

His vision began to blur dangerously. 

"And I don't... don't need help..."

_I'm Spider-Man. I'm strong. I can be by myself._

If he goes to the hospital, even dressed in civilian clothes, then he will be recognized as a mutant — a monster. His superhuman abilities will betray him. Not to mention, Flash will be unable to keep his mouth shut, and the photo he took is proof. 

Peter sighed weakly while thinking of this said photo which would soon be found on social networks.

Reconsidering the situation, he would have prefered to die in this kitchen and keep the dignity he had left.

Peter was expecting Flash to beg or cry, however, he swallowed hardly instead, his dark eyes open wide with something near from fear, and then he whispered:

"It's okay to ask for help... it doesn't mean that you're weak."

_... Uh?_

"Everyone needs help sometimes, even the strongest person in the world, you know..."

Slowly he put the teenager down. Thankfully, he was wearing a hood, so Flash couldn't see his expression; a mix of disbelieve, surprise, and tiredness. Nothing made sense. 

Peter opened his mouth to say something — without knowing what to say — and he falls right into Flash's arms who immediately catches him with flurried movements, gasping with shock. 

"Wha-... Hey! Hey, hey, hey?!" He urged. "You with me Mr. Spider-Man?!"

He continued to talk, but his words started to lose intensity until Peter could no longer hear them. Then everything went black.

**.**

The first thought that crossed his mind was ‘ _ouch_ ’. His whole body was aching, especially his neck. A low grumble escaped his mouth when he tried to move: bad idea. The pain reminded Peter that it was better to remain still. 

So he sighed, willing to rest a little more. That place was not that comfortable, but it kind of smelled good.

Then a little detail echoed into his brain. _Where. was. he?_

Peter jumped sit when the realisation struck him. He was not home. Nor at May's, nor at the tower. He was actually in a car; a jacket was covering his body and the front seat where he was on was back-inclined. 

As a primal instinct, the teenager put a hand over his face — almost slapping himself in the process — to check if he was still cover with his vigilante hood. Another sigh. It was right there on his face — good.

He winced in pain when he turned from left to right to get a better view of his surroundings. Through the windows, he could see that he was in an indoor parking lot. Surely a building parking lot, he thought before directing his attention to the jacket that covered him. It was light grey, and that was where the good smell came from. At least partly, because the car also smelled good. It was ... pretty luxurious, if Peter believed the comfortable leather seats.

If deep inside him Peter wanted to get out of here and run to hide, then he didn't do it. He remembered what his uncle Tony always said to him and Harley, about those kind of situations when you don't know where you are, or why you are there. The better thing to do is reflect, figure out, and do not panic. So that was he did.

Where he was? In an unknown car. How did he get into it? He didn’t remember. Why was he here? The teenager didn’t know either. 

But he knew that he was injured and that he had been unconscious. If the person who brought him here had really wanted to hurt him, then he would have done it to him long ago. Spider-Man or not, he was aware that he had almost died. His wounds were the painful proof. Then Peter remembered his fight with Iron-man. He groaned in spite and shame. That was a reason to not go home ... However, he couldn't just disappear without a trace. It was not his project. He couldn't do that to Pepper or May.

He put a cautioning hand on his flank wound. Firstly, he noticed that it was no longer bleeding, which was something positive even if he was still a little dizzy from the loss of blood. Then he noticed the smell of disinfectant. It was a smell he hated because it reminded him of hospitals.

Peter lifted his sweatshirt and found that the wound had been partially cleaned. It looked less awful than yesterday, but it was still impressive. Without doubting it, he knew that it would take several days to heal completely. 

_Great_ … 

The Queens vigilante continued to replay the course of his day in his mind to remember how he got there. It was pretty vague from the moment he entered the house. His injury was the result of a fight, it was obvious, yet pieces of his memory were missing. Probably because of a bad blow to the head. He remembered going through a wall, then the bar that had sunk into his flesh. The memory was itself frightening and painful. And then what? Peter dragged himself out, even if it was dark. Too dark. But someone had been there outside with him. He groaned as he rubbed his temple. _C'mon Peter ... who?_

His brown eyes cracked open and so did his mouth. Flash. Hell, how could he forget? Peter rolled his eyes, annoyed. 

If Flash was involved in all of this shit, then it was a very bad start. Maybe the worst. The boy was as thick as a brick, and he only existed because social networks existed too. It wouldn't even be surprising if Peter discovered photos of Flash taking a selfie with Spider-Man unconscious in his car on Instagram. 

_Uh, how embarrassing..._

One sure thing: he wasn't a person he could trust. 

Whilst he thought, he melted and relaxed back into the jacket he was currently wearing. The scent of it wasn’t familiar, but it wasn’t anything bad. Yet, in this line of thought, if the last person he encountered was Flash, then this jacket must have been said boy’s. 

He frantically pushed the cloth away with a pure expression of disgust. 

"Ew, gross..."

Then the vigilante wiped his chest as his sweat-shirt had been cover with dirt by the only fact of being in contact with something which was belonging to Flash. 

When his crisis finished Peter sighed and took a look at his watch. 6:13 AM. 

His eyes widened behind his goggles. He didn't expect to discover that he had slept for all this time. Fuck, he was so screwed. Really, really screwed this time. By now, his family probably already had contacted all the police offices of New-York. Maybe even the press. Hell, they'll kill him for sure.

Despite the fear that was knotting his stomach he ventured to read the hundreds of messages and voicemails he had received over the previous hours.

The more he read them, the more he could feel the concern through the messages.

 **10:04 PM, Pepper:** ‘ _Tony said your watch’s tracer isn’t operational, likewise your phone’s. Please call us back sweetie, we won’t get angry._ ’

Peter read messages among many others.

 **10:27 PM, May:** ‘ _Baby answer the call, we’re worried’_

 **10:41 PM, May:** ‘ _Hap is looking for you through NY. Call him please. I’m home and Tony & Pepper are at the tower.’_

 **11:07 PM, Ned:** _‘Dude!!! wot r u doing?!? Tony called me wtf!? They thought I was with u, what did u tell them??’_

Staying outside for so long wasn't a part of his initial project; now he was feeling guilt. Great work, Parker… 

**Voicemail 11:29 PM, Pepper:** " _Peter, I know you’ve been upset for a long time now, but trust me, this isn’t the way to feel better. Where are you honey? Please, call me, sweetheart…"_

 **11:50 PM, Harley:** _‘You suck’_

 **01:34 AM, May:** ‘ _COME BACK NOW OR YOU WILL BE GROUNDED FOREVER’_

 **01:39 AM, Ned:** _‘R u dead???’_

 **01:42 AM, Ned:** ‘ _cmon i cant go to school alone dude, pls anws!!’_

 **Voicemail 02:04 AM, May:** _‘’I’m sorry honey, I didn’t mean to get angry but you know… I’m remembering the night when Ben… when he-… oh, god,’’ she sniffed ‘’I’m so scared for you… j-just want you, home baby… I love you… ‘’_

Peter closed his eyes which were tingling as he stopped reading the messages. Currently, he wanted to take a shovel and dig it into the ground until he could disappear for good. They didn’t deserve that. To be worried because of him. Actually, it was him who didn’t deserve them. Especially May – how could he do that to her after everything she went through and everything she did for him? He definitely wouldn’t be able to look at her eye to eye. However, the fact that Tony never tried to call him or even message didn’t escape the teenager. He knew that his uncle called Ned and checked after his phone’s and watch’s tracer but… Tony didn’t try to speak at him. 

He probably would have started crying if someone hadn't opened the driver's door at the same time. Peter sniffed and moved away as much as possible until he had his back against the glass of his door.

"O-oh! You're up!"

Obviously it was Flash. Still, Peter didn't know if he could relax in front of him. 

"I... hum..." The teenager hesitated before entering into the car — he didn't close the door though. "I stayed all night here, in case anybody would come and find you... or... well, you're pretty hurt, so I just hoped that you wouldn't die in your sleep. I had to pee, t-that's why I wasn't here when you, uh... wake up."

Flash licked his lips, wiggling awkwardly. At first, Peter didn't understand why. He was the one who usually closed his mouth and looked down in front of his childhood bully, after all. Then he realized he was Spider-Man. Suddenly he remembered all the times he had seen Flash protect and admire the vigilante. Peter smiled viciously under his mask — the teenager must have felt so stupid. And Peter loved to see Flash — for once — being the one who was intimidated.

He straightened on his sit before letting out a moan — the wound was merciless, even if it wasn't bleeding any more. Flash lifted his hand toward him in an attempt to help despite not knowing what to do.

"M-Maybe it's time to go to a hospital now, don't you think?"

_Oh, not again with this fucking hospital..._

Since Spider-Man didn't answer, Flash took out of his pocket his phone and started to compose the number. Without thinking Peter grabbed his wrist, putting enough strength on his grip to hurt the young man and convince him to not do that again. 

"I. Said. No. Hospital," he snarled with a deep voice, loyal to his secret identity.

Like a scared little child who just got scolded, Flash nodded vigorously, almost in a funny way. Peter sighed and put a hand over his goggles, trying to think about the whole situation, whilst Flash put his phone back in his pocket. 

"Here..."

He gave to the vigilante a little bottle of water. 

"You're probably dehydrated."

Peter wanted to argue back and lie, but truth was that he was very fucking thirsty. Just seeing the water in the bottle reminded him of how dry his tongue and his throat were. He swallowed painfully and accepted the water without saying a word. Though he couldn't drink in front of that idiot. It was too risky. So he just looked at Flash until the concerned could eventually understand what he was expecting. He blinked, his mouth open in a 'o', and then he turned his head toward the driver's door, waiting patiently. Spider-Man rolled his eyes before lifted his mask on his nose and open the bottle, happy to finally have some water. It was only after drinking at least half of it that he finally felt a little better.

"Thank you..." he whispered calmly and slowly as he replaced his hood.

Flash assumed he could turn to the superhero again, so he turned his head. Instead of looking at Spider-Man, however, he stared at his fingers and wiggled them nervously. 

Peter wanted to leave. He wanted to ask him questions. And he also wanted to take advantage of his super strength to take his revenge for all these years and hit Flash like he always dreamed of. But it wouldn't be worthy of Spider-Man, let alone the fact that the teenager who had undoubtedly saved his life.

"You passed out last night. I... I first thought you were dead, it was a scary shit. You were breathing, though, so... I couldn't just drop you somewhere. As you didn't want me to take you to the hospital, then I carried you to my car which was parked near the house party. But... you were still bleeding, and I was really afraid that you would die any minute. My parents aren't at home, though my little sister is, so I couldn't take you to my apartment. And I guessed that you would probably freak out to wake up there instead of the car, because... well... you're Spider-Man and you could easily break free all you want."

So Flash is a talkative one. 

_Funny thing_ , Peter thought as he drink the rest of the water, turning his head in order to hide his face. 

He didn't know if Flash was waiting for an answer from him or not. The Queens' vigilante remained silent. Because he was lost. What was he supposed to do in this kind of situation? Spider-Man was injured, his family was looking for him everywhere, and he was currently in a car with the boy who had harassed him for years — the same boy who obviously idolized his alter-ego without knowing that behind him was just Penis Parker.

In his state, he did not know if he was going to be able to return or not. But it was out of the question for Flash to drive him to the tower — even if he pretended to have business with the avengers, Peter would still have problems with his family who would then discover the truth.

Peter blinked when he realized that Flash was still talking.

"... and that's why I would like to say to you: thank you for-..."

"Wait, what...? Uh..."

It as now the turn of Flash to blink to express his surprise. 

"Uh... what 'what'?"

"...What?"

OK, now it was ridiculous. Peter pursued:

"I gotta go."

Ignoring the disappointment that sparkled in the young man's eyes, Spider-Man opened the door and pulled himself out of the car. A gust of fresh air made him shiver slightly, although he wished he could finally take off his hood to breathe freely. Blood and sweat had accumulated on the fabric to the point where it was almost unbearable. In addition, now that he was standing, Peter could feel that his muscles were still sore and painful in some places. His head was better though, which was a more or less good sign. Conclusion: he was going to be able to go back to the tower, even if it was going to be quite a pain in the ass to walk through the city. Indeed, he still had to find and pick up his stuff before going home. Hopefully he would go to school, which would save him from suspicions — no matter how small they could be — of Flash.

Peter heard footsteps approaching behind him; he knew that Flash would try to convince him to take more rest. But he couldn't. It was time for him to return home and assume his responsibilities.

But before he could leave, he just had to take care of something.

Flash let out a surprised and confused squeak when the vigilante suddenly grabbed him by his collar and pushed him against his luxurious car. Maybe it was unfair and rude, but Peter did what he had to do to protect himself. Besides Flash deserved this. It was a kind of revenge, Peter guessed as he pressed harder on his iron-grip until he could hear the other teenager gasp.

"Listen carefully: not a word. Nothing happened. You didn't see anything. I know where you live, so I wouldn't do anything stupid if I was you. Do you understand?"

"Yeah..." He looked down, almost sad.

Peter sighed. 

"What's your name?"

"Flash, sir."

His grip on the collar faded as he stepped back. 

"Okay. You.. did a good job by helping me, Flash."

Was that a blush which spread over his childhood bully's face? It was definitely the weirdest 24 hours he lived of all his life, Peter thought while he was running away from the car park, trying to not get focused on the pain. The only thing he wanted to do now was melt into his warm bed and forget about that shitty day he had been going through. But deep down Peter knew the worst was ahead.

In a few minutes it was going to be 7 AM. Journalists will with no doubt already be in front of the tower waiting for Peter and Harley's apparition to ask them stupid, disrespectful, and intimate questions like they always do for weeks on end, especially if they have been made aware of the 'disappearance' of Peter.

Hell, of course, everyone would talk about the disappearance. Peter never ran away. Actually, Peter was a calm and exemplary kid. That's why once the relief would be over, they were going to kill him for doing this to them.

Good. He deserved it.

**.**


	5. How to disappoint

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya ! 
> 
> First, I still thank a lot my beta-reader, alifetime, she's the best!  
> Sorry for the time it took to update the story, but I assure you that I'm far from giving up this fanfiction! (Actually, I'm even writting the chapter 7 ;D )
> 
> The chapters of Under The Mask will keep and length from 4000 to 6000 words, I will try to post them every two or three weeks (it all depends on the speed of correction my beta-reader, but sure thing, I'll never intend to hurry her, she already does a lot for me and I'm so grateful to her).
> 
> Sorry if the writting is a little bit shaky, I'm still struggling with english since it isn't my first language x) 
> 
> Un petit coucou aux éventuels français qui passent par là... ;) 
> 
> About the Coronavirus, I hope you're all safe. Truly. It sucks. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own MCU movies or their characters. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Peter's brown eyes were locked on the screen of his phone, sceptical.

It was weird.

There was absolutely no trace of his disappearance on social networks. And it was quite logical and smart from Tony — alerting the press would have led to a media chaos. Besides, they didn't know what happened to him, thus they didn’t have any clue if he had been kidnapped, killed, or if he simply ran away. But this is why the teenager couldn’t just go home; he looked like shit and by now reporters would probably already be at the tower's doors, waiting for Harley and Peter to go for school. It would cause a new scandal if they saw the young Peter come out of nowhere so early in the morning, and he definitely didn't need this.

Therefore, Peter didn't have a lot of options if he wanted to return home.

He was hurt, and tired — there was no way he could walk to the tower. Unless he wanted to be found somewhere, collapsed and unconscious on the ground. Peter was ashamed by the mere thought of such a scenario.

With a long and deep sigh, Peter began to dial Happy's number to leave a message to him. Then he took a bite of his cheeseburger.

 **07:02 AM, Peter** : 'Hi Hap, 804 6th Ave, New York'

The good thing was that no one was paying attention to him. Yet he continued to hide himself with his jacket's hood. The bad thing was that more troubles were now coming. He couldn't avoid it forever.

It took only a few minutes before the Queens' vigilante could hear tires rasping.

Putting aside his fear, he couldn't help a small smile when he recognized the familiar Audi which parked in front of him, while Peter was still eating his cheeseburger, his back against the McDonald's wall. Happy opened his door and immediately moved forward to the teenager. Peter felt guilt when he noticed the dark circles under the bodyguard’s eyes, plus his pallor. The man stayed awake all the night, looking for him. He knew that it wasn't just because it was his job. And that made him feel more like a selfish shit.

"What the hell, kid?! What was on your mind?"

He shrugged.

"Are you ok?"

Peter didn't respond since Happy was already checking his body briefly, looking for any trace of a wound. Fortunately, his clothes weren't spotted with blood; the bleeding had faded over the night while he was wearing his spider suit.

The bodyguard was grumbling something inaudible, obviously upset by the previous night, though Peter didn't miss the relief that he saw in the man's face as if a heavyweight just withdrew from his shoulders. He wouldn't admit it, but the teenager was relieved too. It was good to see Happy, although he was grumpy most of the time.

With one last sigh Happy put his hand on the kid's hair and then took his phone out to send a message; it was for Pepper, Peter could see even though the man had turned his back to the teenager. After such a rough night he just wanted to go home. However, he knew that he wouldn't escape from his aunts. And, of course, Tony. Peter thought about facing his uncle after their fight; it would be really weird. He had punched his uncle. Did he now know who Peter truly was after their confrontation? Maybe it was the reason why he didn't leave any messages or voicemails for his nephew. The vigilante repressed a whine.

"I just informed your aunts. They're waiting for you."

He slowly nodded, taming the idea of getting home, and then handed a cheeseburger to the man who was narrowing his eyes, looking at him oddly. Still, he took the offer and Peter smiled.

"It's seven in the morning, how did you get that? Fast-food restaurants are closed."

"I know. I didn't rob it." Peter smiled as he finished the last bite of his own sandwich "It's just that we can do a lot of things with a lot of money."

Happy rolled his eyes.

"God, you're too much like Tony."

With a weak shrug, Peter downed his head and walked into the Audi. He heard Happy sigh again before he finally joined him in the car, ready to drive him home.

**.**

Peter barely had enough time to take one step inside the penthouse when arms were wrapped tightly around his neck. He blinked and tried to not let out a sound of pain because of his side wound, and responded to May's hug. Despite everything he got through over the previous hours, it was still warm and very welcomed. He didn't have to be scared anymore.

His aunt pulled him away to take a better view at her nephew. She wasn't crying, though she looked terribly worried and tired. Pepper was also who was standing beside May.

"Peter, baby, are you hurt?" May said urgently, her hands moving on his arms, showing her desperate need to ensure herself that her baby was right here.

"Yeah, yeah... I'm alright..."

"Are you sure?" Pepper intervened. "Honey, you can tell us everything, don't be afraid."

He stepped back, escaping from the tenderness and the cuddles.

An awkward silence settled. Pepper and May were looking at each other, beginning a mute and visual aunts-talk while Happy walked towards Harley who was standing against the door-frame, arms crossed and his gaze fixed on his cousin.

For a second, their eyes met.

However, Peter didn't manage to determine what the blue eyes were thinking.

His mutant ears didn't miss Happy’s words even though he whispered to Harley, “ _No school for both of you today._ ”

The teenager nodded and then left without saying anything. Peter heard him walk until he reached his room.

"Thank you for bringing him home, Happy. Tony'll be there soon. Take the rest of the day off." Pepper discharged the bodyguard with a soft smile.

His eyes were focused on his feet as if they were the most interesting thing in the world; yet, Peter still felt Happy’s gaze on him while he was walking out. _He didn't like when people were staring at him..._

"Peter," May's voice echoed, colder than a few minutes earlier. "You owe us some explanations, don't you think?"

He wished he could say aloud the truth, but it was one more thing he couldn't do, even if he wanted to. Sometimes, being Spider-Man was a burden. When it was about himself, Peter never really cared. Nevertheless, everything was different since it was currently impacting his family. It pained him to be a liar. But when it all began, when his powers appeared one after the other, Peter had decided to put a hood on his face in order to protect people and it was like he had signed a secret pact: he could be a vigilante, protecting the little guy, but he couldn't say a word to anyone about his alter-ego. Knowing the truth meant they would be in danger.

"So, what? You didn't bother to give us the slightest sign that you were okay? And now you’ve lost your tongue?! No, Peter. No. I won't let this happen. It doesn't work like this. We called every police station in New York and every hospital. We were waiting for a ransom. Do you know how it feels to wonder every single minute if someone you love is alive or dead? Or dying somewhere, alone and scared? Me, I do. And as much I am angry at you right now, I hope that you will never, ever, experience something like that. Trust me, your imagination is your worst enemy during those kinds of situations."

Pepper remained silent, although she shared the same anger as May. He could feel disappointment emanated from her.

Maybe if he kept his head and his eyes down without saying anything, then they would let him go to his room.

That was his plan. A bad one, but at least he had one.

His hopes were dashed when Peter heard a familiar sound coming from outside the tower. He didn't need to turn to the windows to recognize Iron-Man, who was landing on the penthouse balcony.

Both of his aunts sighed in relief, while the vigilante swallowed hard, fighting the apprehension that was boiling inside his whole body.

The jingles of the armour sounded distinctly as the billionaire appeared, walking out from his iron suit. His fists were firmly clenched and his face had a dark, absolute unfriendly expression. He went directly towards his nephew and stopped curtly before him; Peter had an unpleasant feeling of being judged by the gaze of his uncle who was probing him from head to toe with a haughty undisguised look. Without said anything, Tony sharply caught Peter's left wrist, then detached his watch. When the man had next held his hand up, Peter understood and reluctantly gave his phone after picking it from his pocket.

"Well done, Peter."

At this point, the teen's cheeks were burning red with the suffocating mixture of shame and anger.

"You hacked your watch. You hacked your phone."

Each of the Avenger movements were harsh, revealing the aggressive and frustrated feelings he felt for his nephew. It reminded Peter of his fight with Iron-Man; the man at the time did not know who was hiding under the hood, and that is why he showed no mercy. But now Tony was using a tone on his nephew that Peter particularly hated. It was a humorous connotation accompanied by a tense smile and an accusing glare.

Tony didn't like to show his emotions, it was something that Peter had learned over time. He was always hiding them behind a mask which sometimes made him difficult to decipher. The teenager didn't feel reassured to be able to see the anger of his uncle while he used his sarcastic voice.

"I'm impressed. But I'm not sure if it's because of your brilliant performance, or because you managed to be more immature than Harley." He sniffed scornfully, crossing his arms over his chest.

 _Yeah, pretty surprising from nice Peter_. Usually, it was his cousin who was reprimanded for his egocentric behaviour, and who was compared with Peter in the hope of he would take an example from his wisdom. The vigilante didn't appreciate this parallel at all, it left on his tongue an unpleasant taste of bitterness and the thought of having to take refuge in his room to escape his family and all those tired looks had never been as attractive as at that unending moment.

"Give me your backpack."

Even though Peter had taken care to hide his suit before going home, knowing that it would be too risky to give it to him, part of him was still afraid that his uncle would find something — _anything_ — that could help him with the relation with the teenager and Spider-Man.

He breathed nervously as he handed his school bag to Tony who took it with a gesture just as sharp as the previous ones. There was no more noise for a few seconds since the man began to search inside the backpack, then Peter felt dark eyes staring at him.

"I really, _really_ do hope for you that there isn't any drugs inside."

Peter looked up in a flash, almost cracking his neck in the process when his uncle's words hit him. The threat in his voice was one thing. And the accusation was one other thing, which was also very painful. The boy was no longer sure if he wanted to cry or scream, so he sought for the worst and cruellest thing to yell back at Tony in order to deeply hurt him, but words never came out of his mouth when he caught sight of his uncle's face for the first time since a few hours. The man seemed to have aged ten years with the dark circles under his eyes and his dishevelled hair. Yet it was not what had shocked Peter the most: it was the imposing bruise that was on the left side of his face, presenting black, blue, and purple shades. A bruise that Spider-Man had purposely given to him.

_Peter had done that. He had hurt his uncle._

A strong feeling of nausea returned to his stomach, fighting not to burst into tears in front of his whole family. His throat was knotted and his eyes bright with tears as Tony continued his inspection.

Of course, the Avenger didn't find anything other than school supplies; Peter didn't even have the will to sport a satisfied smile.

"Good. You wouldn't have appreciated the consequences," he said with a false happy voice, dropping the backpack negligently on the floor. "Are you finally gonna decide to share with us what happened yesterday night? I'm curious."

Silence.

"No?"

Tony took a slow step forward, his smile fading.

"I thought you wanted to be a big boy. What's happening?"

Continued silence. Peter's eyes were glued to the floor — he heard his uncle chuckle meanly. And the teenager knew that Tony only did that when he was disappointed.

"So this is the silent treatment? Fine. You know what? I don't care."

"Tony..." Pepper sighed, not wanting to make the situation worse.

Peter hadn't prepared a credible lie. Plus, if he spoke he knew that he would cry.

He heard Tony inhale deeply.

"Are you hurt?"

 _Yes_.

Peter shook his head with a slow-moving motion.

For a second the man seemed to hesitate in front of his nephew; his gaze wasn't that severe anymore, it looked more tired. Tony eventually stepped aside to free the teenager.

"We'll talk about it later. You're not allowed to go outside except for school, and this is until further notice. Now go to your room. I don't want to see your face before dinner time."

It was an immeasurable relief for the vigilante to be able to leave the room. His uncle's words were still fiery in his mind as he walked towards his bedroom. He could feel the heavy looks of Pepper and May on his neck until he disappeared from their sight.

All the tensions that were parasitizing his body made his fingers feel tingly. It was stifling; Peter didn't know if it was his mutation that made him more sensitive to airwaves, but he sometimes felt more empathetic. _Too much_. His family's disappointment was sticking at his skin. But it wasn't the only thing that gnawed his mind: memories of his previous battles still haunted his thoughts and that was the first thing he thought of as he walked along a hallway to his room. Whether memories of facing Iron-Man or the burglars, only _fear_ emerged in his brain. He almost _died_ last night. _Damn_.

And now all the pressure was going down. His legs were shaky and limp, leading the teenager to wonder if he was going to be able to reach his bed or if he would collapse on the floor to give his dignity another humiliating slap. Peter just wanted to bury his face in his pillow and cry until he could finally fall asleep.

When he pushed open his bedroom's door his senses suddenly roused awake and he caught something that was flying through the room towards him in a blink of an eye.

"Wow..." Harley said after a short time, perplex. "Good reflex."

Peter looked down at the shoe in his hand and then threw it against the opposite wall, his surprise giving way to frustration. _Couldn't he be alone?!_ Harley was laying on his bed, arms crossed behind his head, so Peter just went to his desk—he ignored his cousin because right now he didn't need another talk with anyone.

He grabbed a random pen and began to do his homework, those he was supposed to do yesterday instead of fighting with his uncle on the rooftops of New York. For a minute, neither talked; Peter’s breath was short and jerky while he furiously attempted to stay focus on the paper rather than Harley's unwanted presence.

"So..."

_No, shut up, shut up, shut u-..._

"What was it, again? Oh, yeah: 'I have something to do with Ned'. How did it go?"

Again, that voice. Mocking, sarcastic, haughty... _Who do you think you are?_ The little shit that was currently Harley was the spitting image of his uncle. The same fucking cocky and hateful behavior.

"Not now..." he succeeded to grumble, hiding his head down between his shaking shoulders.

"C'mon, it won't work on me."

Of course, his lovely cousin wasn't May or Pepper. He was such an asshole. The teenager got up from Peter's bed and approached him with an unwavering confidence.

"I know the truth," Harley whispered.

Peter froze. He was now as still as a statue. What Harley didn't see was the pen that was stuck to the vigilante's hand. However, for once, it was the last of Peter cares. The whole situation was turning into a nightmare.

"You did it on purpose."

... _What_?

"Don't bother yourself to lie, I know you." He sniffed with disdain. "Crybaby Peter wanted attention, that's it? Your goal was to get noticed because you can't stand not being the centre of attention."

The pen was glued to his fingers. _Not now, please, not now..._

"Harley... Leave. Me. Alone."

Peter wished he could have felt relieved that his cousin didn't know the truth, but right now a pen was stuck in his fucking hand and Harley was standing just next to him. If he didn't know the truth about Spider-Man then it wouldn't be long before he did so. Even if the words and accusations were hurtful, he couldn't allow his powers to express themselves as they pleased. He had to concentrate to regain control, but for that, he needed to calm down. Harley imposed the opposite on him.

"You wish. Fuck, you can't just come back innocently after having made my mother cry, you selfish jerk!"

Peter slowly opened his hand after making sure his cousin couldn't see what he was doing. The pen was still against his palm, immobile. He was losing control.

_Breathe_.

_Do not forget how to breathe._

"My dad has already enough to care about." The blond said in a grumble "He's... he's finally here, and you're spoiling everything!"

That was too much, he couldn't stand it anymore. Peter abruptly receded his chair as he jumped up, making it fall backwards—his fists were clenched and his eyes burning with tears of anger. The sharp and unexpected reaction of his cousin startled Harley enough to shut his mouth.

"I SAID LEAVE ME ALONE!" he screamed in a shrill voice.

Harley threw a look at the door, looking like a child scared, having upset his parents after making the little brother or sister cry. Since he never moved from his position, Peter stepped forward and his cousin raised his hands in order to ease him.

"NOW! Get out, get out, get out!"

This caused the blond to leave the room without words, troubled by the fury in his cousin's attitude.

Well, what was done was done. Peter didn't care about his words — it was too late to take them off anyways. And it was out of the question that he would come to apologize to Harley, he definitely deserved this. Maybe a good punch wouldn't have been too much. Peter wanted to do a lot of things right now because of the rage that was rotting his thoughts, he wanted to hit someone hard, very hard. Harley was a dumbass. After everything he went through the previous night after having been humiliated in front of his aunts and his uncle, how could he add more accusations on him?

_Yeah, I'm fine, dear cousin! Thanks for caring so much about me! I appreciate it._

With a hoarse shout, he grabbed the overturned chair and smashed it back on the floor with a loud crash; wooden splinters were ejected in several directions, and Peter forthwith knew that it would be hell to clean and that he wouldn't be able to walk barefoot in here for days. _Damn_. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and his index, letting out a deep sigh. Valves got open. Stream of tears silently became apparent on his cheeks, and the weight of the exhaustion began to settle on both of his quivering shoulders.

Everything was heavy, so he just let him fall to his knees, one arm wrapped around his belly like he wanted to throw up. His free hand landed on the floor, holding him up.

" _Peter_ ," F.R.I.D.A.Y’s gentle voice intervened. " _you're breathing at a faster rate than the normal. I advise you to calm yourself with deep inspirations._ "

How ironic that the only one who was inquiring and worrying about him was just an A.I.

"I'm okay..." he panted, "everything's fine..."

" _Peter. You're bleeding._ "

His flank was soaking his sweatshirt with his blood.

" _I have to tell your un-..._ "

"FRIDAY, engage ‘responsibilities’ protocol."

" _Got it. Protocol activated._ "

"O-Okay... now, mute."

Tony knew Peter had hacked his watch and his phone, however, he didn't know it yet for F.R.I.D.A.Y. But it was very likely that he would do it within the next few days, and Peter was afraid of it. He was so close to the end of this mishap, he couldn't lose his secret identity in that way.

Accompanied with a last sob, Peter finally fell into Morpheus' embrace.

**.**

Okay, maybe he should have stayed home one more day.

The wound was now closed, but it still hurt like hell — it was constantly reminding him that warm-up exercises weren't the best option when you were hurt. Spider-Man or not, he looked like a dehydrated old man who was trying to do crunches; what a pitiful sight he was giving of himself...

Stitches would have been a better solution. Though, since he could neither ask for help, and had slept all day yesterday, Peter ended up considering not touching anything at all and leaving his powers to take care of everything. At first it seemed like a pretty good idea. He had showered to get rid of all the grime that stuck to his skin, and had taken care to disinfect and clean the wound before bandaging it partially with an adhesive bandage — Pepper and May never noticed anything, and Tony couldn't have noticed something since he hadn't shown himself at dinner time. But there he was now, struggling silently with his pain despite all those hours spent resting.

"Dude... You should take a break. You look like you're about to puke."

"Nah, it's fine... I-I'm just hungry, I guess."

Ned didn't seem to believe him. Understable, knowing that they had eaten less than an hour ago and that Peter had practically devoured his tray, unable to resist the nutritional needs that his body required to process the energy expended during his last two fights as Spider-Man. However, he hadn't really lied when he said that he was hungry since he still felt his stomach begging for food — it was like a bottomless pit.

Peter shifted slightly to the left, half-listening to his friend who was speaking in front of him until he could see Flash. The teen was sitting on the bench of the grandstand, fingers crossed under his chin and his blank stare fixed on the ground. He hadn't moved an inch since fifteen minutes. _Creepy_.

When Peter returned to school this morning he was greeted as usual by Ned who urged him with tons of questions to find out what happened. He said to him the same excuse as his aunts, which is in other words: ' _I went to a party_ '. No one would have believed him. There wasn't enough explanations to justify his absence at night. Thus, Peter played the role of a teenager who only wanted to have a good time with "cool" people. Telling this to Ned, Peter sincerely and deeply prayed that his friend would not be upset about this story. Every word of his lie had left a bitter taste in his mouth. The Queen’s vigilante had felt irked because he would _never_ let Ned aside, let alone for the campaign of some idiots, and he didn't want his friend to think the contrary. This is why he had dreaded going back to class.

The other reason that made him want to stay hidden in his bed for eternity was his childhood bully.

Peter narrowly held back a whine when he thought of Flash saving Spider-Man's ass. He really fell low, that night. But he had to admit that without this moron he wouldn't be there to complain about it because he would probably have passed out in the middle of the street, exposed and vulnerable. Or else he would have lost all of his blood, which would have been the second-worst possibility.

Against all odds, nothing appeared on social media. No photos of a half-conscious Spider-Man. The photo Flash took when they met just after the robbery. No photos of Spider-Man sleeping in the teen's car. Nothing at all. It's as if Flash had never seen the masked hero. Peter expected to feel the whole school tremble under Flash's praises about what he had seen — _him_ , meeting _Spider-Man_. Yet, _nothing_.

In a way it was suspicious. This day wasn't meant to be calm.

But it was anyways, and Peter would have to deal with it. If Flash had kept what had happened this night secret, then it was surely not out of kindness or charity. Spider-Man had threatened him, after all. Flash wasn't suicidal. Nobody wanted to have the Queen’s vigilante as an enemy. The boy was just concerned with what could happen to him if he was too talkative. So it was the fear, no respect.

Giddiness raced through his body, spinning the gymnasium around him; Ned's voice was still audible, although it was low and indistinct. Maybe now was the time to take a break. Peter struggled to hold his breath, fear of being noticed if he was too loud. Probably a stupid idea now that he was on the verge of fainting. His limbs were heavy and weak. If he got up he was not sure he could manage to walk to a bench. He couldn't continue the warm-up exercises, he needed to breathe. His wound was burning.

 _Shit_.

The realization made him freeze with terror. What if it bleeds? Everyone would see him, and the school would contact the hospital or his family. He couldn't stay there, he had to hide. And _breathe_. Peter groaned when he felt his friend's hand against his shoulder - he fought it briefly.

"I-I'm okay... Just need some air. I'll be back in a minute."

Before Ned could say anything else Peter was already standing and hobbling to the cloakroom with a painful frown on his face, not paying attention to his professor's gaze. The man was accustomed to Peter's recalcitrant body when it was about to do more than two push-up. So as humiliating it was, Peter was really thankful right now to not have to answer questions.

He didn't venture to waste his precious conscious-time and headed straight for the men's locker room, letting out a deep sigh of relief when the door was finally closed; he found himself alone and it was marvellous. Peter leaned his back against the door and slammed a hand against his mouth to hold a violent retch as well as a sob. He didn't feel good. Not good at all. His ribs were still bruised, not to mention his flank injury. With a trembling hand, the teenager grabbed the edges of his t-shirt and lifted it over his belly to observe the damage to his body. It was not a pretty sight. It was an array of colors. Yellows, for the most part, but still not a normal color for a fourteen-year-old boy.

The wound was still quite impressive. Partly reduced, but still impressive. If May had seen it, she would have become as white as a ghost; she, who was the type to panic when a splinter was stuck in his finger. But fortunately, the injury hadn't started to bleed again. There were only the contours which were reddened and slightly swollen. His mutation wouldn't let that turn into an infection. Peter trusted his powers and knew that at this stage of healing his body could handle the inflammation. Though he needed time, a lot of food, and sleep more than usual. For now, a simple break would do.

With a slow and pitiful step, he finally reached a bench on which he could sit. Or flop on it without any grace or dignity. Whatever. His legs couldn't have handled his own weight any longer — it was already a miracle that he was still conscious.

His head tilted forward until it hung limply in the void. The position was as pleasant as it was painful. Peter hated feeling so weak. It made him vulnerable.

His clothes were soaked with sweat and his curls stuck to his hot forehead. For a moment it reminded him of his life before he became Spider-Man — when he was a normal human. He didn't really know if he missed it, but he knew he would rather die than give up what made him so special.

Maybe he fell asleep during this short break because his eyes suddenly reopened at the same time as he heard someone enter into the locker room. He cleared his throat remotely, wincing when his neck cracked under the sudden change of position. His gaze caught Flash's.

There was an awkward silence for a second before Flash handed him a bottle of water.

"Here, Parker. They're betting you're dead. You really look like shit."

Peter looked at the bottle after accepting it with a trembling and hesitant hand, remembering the scene in the car that left him with a feeling of déjà vu, then he stared again at his childhood bully. Maybe he was still asleep...

Flash narrowed his nose with a frown as if he had just been insulted in the worst way.

"Do not look at me that way, dickwad, I just don't wanna hear you pant like a dog! I'm only doing a favor to myself!"

Flash never waited for an answer. The boy simply turned around and headed toward the door with a disdainful and proud pace. Yet, the look he threw over his shoulder didn't escape to Peter.

_Well... that was... unexpected. Again._

Peter mused about the fact that Flash hadn't disclosed what happened the other day with Spider-Man. Perhaps there was some hope to have in this idiot. The teenager silently watched the bottle get stuck and prisoned in his hand because of his rebellious powers. He knew if he stayed calm, then it would annul only in a few minutes. Besides, no one was around to witness this scene anyway. A smile slowly spread over his tired face. Flash may not be a hopeless moron, after all.

But it was still confusing. And even if deep down Peter was grateful that Flash hadn't endangered his identity, he couldn't forget all these years of enduring mockery, humiliation, threats and bad beatings. The boy hasn't stopped making his life hell since elementary school, so why should there be a difference now? Peter struggled with his thoughts throughout the day, sometimes glancing at his childhood bully to monitor his activities. _Was he talking about Spider-Man? Was he posting photos?_ MJ was surprised by his persistent looks and frowned at him in a silent question. Peter just shrugged, swallowing his anxiety that consumed him every hour of the day. At least, in that way, he was not focused anymore on his wound. Truth was that he wasn't focused at all. The teen realized this when he spent more than twenty minutes fixing his homework without writing a single line.

"Whoa... she must be really pretty." Peter heard Tony's voice whisper to Pepper as if it was a secret, but it was obviously said in a teasing way.

"I think so," his aunt agreed with a playful smile. She was kneading a pastry on the other side of the large table. "Is our Peter in love?"

The concerned teen suddenly looked up, almost afraid of the idea they had in their minds. In love, he? He could have laughed if the thought of putting 'Flash' and 'in love' in the same sentence had not been so abhorrent. Spider-Man didn't have time for these childish stories, he couldn't let himself become distracted and diverted from his destiny for any girl. Let alone — _ugh_... Flash Thompson.

Unsurprisingly, he found himself stuttering and fighting the blushes that spread over his face, shaking his head frantically.

"N-No, there... there isn't any girl! I-I wa-was just, hum... thinking. T-That's all..."

_Very convincing._

If anything, it only consolidate his uncle and his aunt into their initial idea. _Great_. They exchanged an amused look. _No, stop acting like I'm eight_. If it was really about a potential girlfriend, not only would it be personal, but embarrassing too. Especially since of all people on the planet — and even others — Flash was definitely the last for which Peter would have feelings. Just thinking about it was repugnant.

The room was mostly quiet, though Peter tried to return to his homework while Pepper was chuckling.

Despite the tensions that had arisen following his nocturnal "runaway”, Peter found that he was not doing too badly through it. Sure, he knew that he wasn't going to enjoy these three weeks by being deprived of hanging out — except for school — he didn't feel targeted by looks filled with reproaches and disappointment. Tony hadn't spoken to him since he seized his phone, and Pepper and May were gullible about his lies concerning the party. Part of him felt guilty while the other was relieved that he no longer had to worry about this nightmare. The injuries received were memorable enough.

When his brain finally managed to solve some calculations that had been left on his books for long minutes, he noticed the presence of his uncle which was becoming more and more persistent. Peter looked up and saw that Tony had taken a seat near — but not too much — to him; he was reading and signing various papers that the teenager suspected to be related to the Avengers, given the size of the paragraphs which sounded like a sweet promise of a migraine for anyone who would read them. _Okay... his uncle was still working in his labs, so why was he there?_ Peter's eyes went from Pepper — who was in the open kitchen — then back to Tony who was taking a sip of his coffee. If he was here it was surely his aunt who had prompted him. Their eyes met. They both froze for a second before returning to their occupations. Bad start. Bad try. Bad everything, actually. Everything was screwed up between him and his uncle, anyways.

"So..." the man cleared his throat, moving his pressed lips in a pensive way, "Who’s the lucky girl’s name?"

_Oh, no. He wasn't going to hear that._

It could have been fun if it wasn't really what they thought. Peter shifted on his chair, his jaw clenched. He knew he only had to ignore Tony or get up and go to his bedroom to end the subject. He would surely have done it if it hadn't been a shabby attempt from his uncle to reconnect whatever may remain of their bonds.

"There isn't any girl..." he responded in an annoyed breath, clicking his pen against the table repeatedly.

Tony blinked.

"Uh... oooh. It's okay if it's a guy! I approve, yep. Totally, definitely, wholly, and, hum, it's 100% alright."

It looked like the words were coming out of his mouth faster than his thoughts. Peter knew his uncle had nothing against homosexuals despite Howard's strict education, yet he knew that Tony hadn't even fully realized the meaning of his words yet. However, the vigilante deeply and secretly appreciated seeing his uncle struggling with this "new", as he hoped that Peter wouldn't feel judged.

The boy gave a weak whine as he put a hand on his slightly-red face.

"It's isn't a boy neither! Tony, please just stop with that..."

He could feel his uncle's gaze on him, trying to decipher the boy as if he was a complicated equation. Astonishing, coming from an engineer easily considered as one of the most intelligent men on Earth. A genius _unable_ to understand a _teenager_ , here was the thing.

"Attemptation of deflecting the subject spotted, young man." Tony sniffed and crossed his arms. "As you're my favourite nephew, I give you one more try."

"Oh, come on! _Just leave me alone!_ "

For a moment it was as if the whole tower had become silent. Pepper continued to cook even though she glanced shortly over her shoulder and Tony remained immobile. With a sigh Peter downed his head, fighting the distinct image of Ben's expression when the teenager yelled at him, a few hours before his death. It was that pained face, again. He would never learn the lesson.

"I... I'm sorry..." Peter whispered.

Tony shook his head and bend slightly toward his nephew, studying his face cautiously.

"Well, I admit that I may suck with the guessing play. So... why don't you help me out?"

Peter swallowed and cleared his throat, his gaze going from his uncle to his homework. He felt silly for shouting at someone who didn't fight back. Tony wasn't there to make fun of him, but to try to have some sort of man-to-man discussion with him. It was a fiasco and very clumsy, yet Peter did not have the heart to reject his uncle for that, because if there was a medal for best performance in messing up in family relationships, then they would both have dozens.

The teen felt parted with his emotions; blaming Tony would have been easy, but in a way hypocritical too.

"It's just school stuff, and... no, nothing. Forget that, please. I-I..."

He stood up straight, collected his homework, and made his way to his room, biting his lower lip. _Idiot_... Now he felt like a damn mollusc by hiding into his bedroom anytime something unwelcomed show-up.

Being Spider-Man didn't prevent Peter Parker from being a coward. The boy under the mask was an eternal and hopelessly weak person. Nothing comparable to Iron-Man or all these other admirable figures who had surrounded him throughout his short life. _Damn_ , he was ridiculous.

The vigilante lifted his shirt to observe his wound. Still red, but less swollen.

A couple of seconds passed before he met his own gaze through the mirror of his room in front of which he was standing. Peter stared at himself with more disgust than he could have had for the most abject person in the world. His worst enemy was in front of him; he was the one who blamed himself. But his accusations were well-founded and justified: he had almost died the other day. It would have been the end for him, but what would have happened to his family? They would have been the number one target for his lack of care. He was Spider-Man, and now more than ever he realized the risks that were imposed by this role. Now, he was understanding. Spider-Man was neither immortal nor untouchable.

A day would come, a day like no other, where Spider-Man would go through a tragic fate. His powers, a gift and a burden, _hadn't finished_ turning his life upside down yet.

Dying unmasked, injured, used as a leverage against his family and the Avengers, bad decisions... These were all potential or usual dangers that Spider-Man had to _daily_ endure, dangers which were called " _responsibilities_ ". So much way to disappoint the people he loved and who loved him.

Peter stifled an ironic chuckle when a small voice in his head asked him who he might disappoint. For that, he should have made them proud of him at first. When did it happen? When had Peter been a real example? He thought of all these people out there, all those people that Spider-Man protected at the risk of his life. Could he disappoint them? But how can you disappoint people who think of you as a deeply evil monster that feeds on the woes of others? To think that he was a sympathetic spider for everyone was on the one hand childish, and on the other risky because he could not neglect his enemies. The Sokovia Accords were just the beginning.

Only a _real_ hero can disappoint.

Mechanically he thought of Steve. If he had his phone, then he would have sent him a message like he had every day since the Civil War. Of course, he never had an answer, yet it was comforting to do this little ritual with the man. Not being able to communicate with Steve — even if it was illusive — was killing him because everything seemed more real. _They were gone_. Peter couldn't speak to him anymore.

"I really miss you, Cap..."

**.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wash your hands, it's important guys. 
> 
> _Lufna_


	6. The Choices We Make

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya!
> 
> I hope you're all alright despite the Corona's little visit.   
> Big thanks for my beta-reader, alifetime ;) 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own MCU movies or their characters.
> 
> Enjoy !

Adrenaline was already starting to diffuse in his veins, ready to fight. Peter ran through the streets of New York, a clear and specific objective in mind: to find an isolated place in order to put on his Spider-Man suit and save his cousin.

Initially, the day had started well. Nothing should have gone out of normal or disrupt people's daily lives. However, certain things could not escape the mutant eyes of Peter. His sixth sense was infallible when it came to spotting danger that no one else could have suspected. And this man was no exception.

Peter had noticed this morning as he’d arrived in Midtown earlier with his cousin. The two boys never walked to school or to the tower together. Now that the reporters had calmed down with their level of harassment, Tony had allowed Peter and Harley to move through the city without Happy's protection. It was a huge relief to be able to be independent again like all the other adolescents of their age, of course, although there were sometimes some more or less aggressive paparazzi to annoy them. Harley had innocently and unconsciously entered the school enclosure without suspecting that he had been followed. But Peter, who had been at the time still outside — talking to Ned about Star Wars — had seen the man on the sidewalk opposite, hands in his pockets and his eyes fixed on the teen's blond hair. This time, Peter had been heedful to the chills that had travelled up his spine. This man wasn't there by chance: it was not the first time that Peter had seen him.

The vigilante had remained silent. He had carefully observed his cousin when the classes were over in the afternoon to confirm his suspicions.

The man was lurking in the shade. Waiting.

It wasn't just spying like some paparazzi did daily; Harley was really in danger.

 _Be smart_ , Peter thought as he stepped into an abandoned cellar where he used to transition from Peter Parker to Spider-Man. Whoever this man was, if he hadn't acted until now, it was because he was planning a plan or trap. No need to wonder why Harley was a target, however, Peter wanted to find out who was behind it, and what the intentions were.

It was rare that someone dared to take the risk of attacking the Stark family — considering the law of 'all or nothing', it was either an ambitious idiot or a real threat on the same scale as the Avengers. Yet Peter was not going to wait for Iron Man to come and save his son. He knew he would, the boys both had their watches after all, but this time Tony could arrive _too late_ if the goal was simply to put a bullet between his cousin's eyes. He wouldn't let that happen.

More than two weeks had elapsed since the incident with this strange technology. Physically, it was as if nothing had ever happened since his body had kept no scar from his fights. His punishment had unexpectedly been removed before its end, and the teenager was able to retrieve his phone and his freedom to go outside when it pleased him. A curfew was still in place for both Peter and Harley, thus the Queens' vigilante knew that putting on his grey and black suit no longer posed a major risk to his secret identity, although he had continued to fulfil his role some nights when everyone in the tower was sleeping.

With a step that was both hurried and careful, Spider-Man came out of the cellar which led him behind an old sewing boutique — a deserted place where he didn't need to worry about prying eyes. He took support on his right foot and he jumped several meters high until his hands could adhere to the big brick wall which stood in front of him, then he climbed again and again higher.

_Find Harley. You know his route. Hurry._

By now, the boy would have arrived at the subway. Peter deducted this as he swung through the streets, sometimes pausing on a roof or a wall to scan the place, looking for the blond. _Nothing_. He cursed internally, setting aside the anxiety that was growing inside him. The way for 111th street Queens was crowded, and the chances that the potential kidnapper would have showed up were low, even if he was an idiot. However, the vigilante pursued his route, trying to catch everything he could with his mutated eyes and ears.

Landing on a signpost, Peter hummed with a neutral face, eyes following the stairs before him. The stop station was up there, hidden by sheet metal walls.

Sure thing, he couldn't just call out for his cousin. The vigilante had enough intrigued gazes on him as it was. So, what now? Should he climb to check after Harley, and thus take the risk to put him in danger? Should he just wait until the subway arrive, without knowing if the teen was safely inside or not? He clenched his fists and cracked his neck. He needed to stay calm and focused, a fight was probably coming up.

When Peter caught sight of a dark van parked a few meters away, something raised up inside of him. The vehicle was as _familiar_ as the man who had followed Harley was. Damn. _DAMN_.

A distinctive shout froze every single cell in his body in a second.

 _Harley_.

Instinctively, Spider-Man jumped forward, rushing for the only goal that was nagging his mind. He crawled under the wooden bridge in which there were the rails to reach the other side of the station that wasn't closed by walls; moans and the sounds of an obvious lute became more and more noticeable as he climbed closer. Knowing that listening to his imagination which was trying to picture what he was hearing was a pretty bad idea, the vigilante focused on a possible surprise attack. He would not give this man the chance to get away after what he did.

Or these _men_.

One of them was behind the blond, holding and twisting his arms in a visibly painful way in order to still him while a second man was hitting his face with angry punches. The third man — the one who had followed Harley — was squatted by the side of a big bag, rummaging inside for what he could use to immobilize the teenager, sometimes raising a pistol when someone arrived at the station, first yelling to frighten them and make them flee, and quickly deciding to shoot freely to eliminate the witnesses. They weren't there for jokes.

"Stay. Fucking. Quiet,” the man behind Harley grumbled.

The punches were now aimed to his stomach, leading the teenager to an uncontrollable coughing fit.

"A-Assholes...! Let me go, bunch of pussies...!"

"Aw, Stark junior isn't a very polite boy... such as his father, I guess." He laughed harshly, waving at the man who was holding Harley. The next instant, a _crack_ sounded and the teen screamed simultaneously.

Peter saw red.

"HEY!" he shouted, using a metal pillar to fix his webs and swing his legs first right into the man, near the bag torso.

Heads turned toward him as the man fell a few meters away in a surprised whine. Spider-Man stood up slowly, glancing at both of the criminals who were beating his half-conscious cousin; he was determined to save him from those monsters. He just had to act faster.

Peter aimed his armed wrists at the man which was hitting the teenager and shot the fluid on his flank. He tried to step back, but the vigilante stuck him onto a wall before he could do anything to get free, and the impact was so strong that Peter knew he was either killed instantly or paralyzed. One left.

The guy had already thrown Harley aside. The boy fell on the floor, whimpering and holding his swollen arm against his chest. Peter thought that he would try to surrender or something, but he only took out a knife from his pocket, which made the Queens' vigilante laugh darkly.

"Oh, c'mon... You can do better."

Ignoring the vigilante's comment, he pressed two fingers against his ear. "Something's wrong, we need help!"

Peter frowned. Trouble was obviously coming, and he still had to get Harley safe from this place and those people. In the distance Spider-Man could hear a few footsteps climbing the stairs, making their way to the stop station.

"Touching the Stark's boy wasn't your best idea..." he disapproved, parrying all the knife attacks.

Although he could easily dodge, the teen had to admit that this guy was pretty well trained compared to all the other guys Peter used to fight. More fun, yes, but they were here for Harley. Which wasn’t fun at all. They weren't just some stupid guys with a poor attempt to get money.

"Alright," the vigilante grumbled as his gloved hand encountered the man’s face, fingers already starting to press cruelly at the skull. "Tell me who's your boss, and maybe, _maybe_ , your brain won't be splattered all over the station's walls." He pressed harder, slamming his head back against the wall; the guy dropped his knife, yelling in horror whilst his tears streamed between Spider-Man's fingers.

Killing people wasn't a problem for Peter, as long as they deserved it. But this time he realised that he couldn't just kill them right here and right now since Harley was witnessing everything. Peter felt his cousin's gaze on him, full of shock and fear. It wasn't eyes filled with naivety, but eyes that Iron Man and all the other Avengers had managed to preserve from the violence and true cruelty of life. Peter didn't want him to see things that could take away the last traces of innocence he had left, and he didn't want neither to inflict this spectacle on his cousin who was staring right at him. Even if it was to protect him, Peter didn't want to be the monster of the situation.

For a second nothing happened. Spider-Man remained mobile, still holding the man's head against the wall. Then Harley's watch began to twinkle slightly; Peter sighed, knowing what was soon happening.

Soon enough he was back to reality when he felt the presence of three new criminals — those who probably had been waiting for Harley inside of the van. Though, something else was new with them. Something that gave the vigilante bad vibes, and it was kind of familiar.

 _Danger_.

Purple shades suddenly sparkled on the left of Spider-Man where the three men were approaching. He froze, eyes widening under his mask when he recognized the weapons.

Flashes of the fight in that house arose in his head, as vivid as the very next day of this nightmare.

No mistakes were possible. It was those weapons, _again_.

"LOOK OUT!" Harley warned.

_Danger. Danger. Danger. Move._

Without thinking he jumped back, letting the man he was previously holding take the bullet for him.

"Fuck...!" the guy with the gun — the first one he had pushed away from his cousin when he entered into the fight — swore. "Kill the insect, and get me that fucking brat!"

 _No, wait... wait, wait, wait_. He wasn't strong enough for this. His face paled with a wince as he remembered the pain. He just finished his recovery, though nightmares were still haunting his mind. There was _no way_ he could undergo all of this one more time.

Peter saw Harley trying to get up despite his weak state and he knew he couldn't just wait and let the fear control him. For the first time, he hoped that Iron Man could be here to save the day. He wasn’t, though. It was just him.

A powerful force propelled him against a founding pillar of the station. He clenched his jaw, feeling the pain buzzing inside his chest, and he used his four limbs to stay attached to the pillar, resisting as best he could against the purple energy which was overwhelming him. Harley... Someone was approaching him. His eyes narrowed and he pulled a web over his cousin's abdomen so he could pull the teen towards him and keep him away from these guys. It was dangerous to draw him close, knowing he was the target of the attacks, but his bet was won; the men weren't going to risk seriously harming Harley, which is why Spider-Man could eventually feel liberated from the grip of this technology. He landed on the floor just next to his cousin in a groan then he put an arm around his waist under the surprised and frightened look of the blonde.

"Wai—"

"Hang on."

And the second after Peter was swinging away, holding tightly the blonde who had let a single and brief shriek out of his mouth.

"Don't move." he ordered while he was struggling to swing around the streets with one hand, the other still clenched on his cousin's waist.

And that’s what he did in dead silence — prying at the same time for his life — grabbing desperately at Spider-Man's dark sweater with his unbroken limb. Considering his incredibly tensed body, Harley wasn't enjoying this journey. Peter remained focused on his course and didn't enquire about the teenager’s discomfort. For now, they were alive, and he had to find a safe place to stay until Iron Man show up.

Occasionally, he cast a look over his shoulder to make sure they were not being followed, especially by a car or the van he had seen near the station. Peter didn't want to inflict more distress on Harley than necessary, which is why he only moved at a low height, carefully avoiding wide turns. He had to keep some speed, his mode of movement is based on taking speed with swinging propulsions. It shouldn't be helping his cousin's vertigo, though.

What a shitty, damn, bloody day.

What was happening to Spider-Man? Since when did he fear his enemies to the point of _fleeing_ at the slightest difficulty? Was it _worthy_ of a hero?

Harley was safe. Not unharmed, but at least in a single piece. That would be enough for the moment.

The vigilante had often heard that hundreds of girls naively dreamed of being carried by the muscular and powerful arms of Spider-Man, travelling through New York under a romanticised sky; it was clear that Harley did not share this point of view. The boy's teeth were chattering as he desperately nestled his face on Spider-Man's shoulder. He was in shock, Peter thought with a pinch of empathy. Yet he repressed the desire of protection he had for his cousin, he wasn't supposed to be sentimental or close to the adolescent. For the moment, it wasn't Peter and Harley, but Spider-Man and Tony Stark's unbearable kid.

The trip, although short, was stressful for both of the teenagers. Peter was still recovering from the fright that took hold of him when he saw those weapons. As for Harley, he was content to have an iron grip on the Queens' vigilante clothes.

Peter landed on the roof of a restaurant, somewhere in Manhattan. Carefully, an arm still wrapped around the blonde's waist, he let him go and acclimatized at their new environment. It took seconds before Harley finally let go the clothes from his fingers, but when he did, he stepped frantically back, his breath beginning to speed up.

"Hey, take it slow, boy," Peter whispered in a deep voice.

Peter didn't like what he saw: Harley's face was wan, except for his nose and his lips from which blood was still shedding. Bruises shouldn't take long before settling on.

"I didn't fucking ask for help..." Harley grunted furiously, holding his broken arm. "I was fine!"

"Yeah, that's what I saw. But, y'know, I can't help myself when it's about a damsel in distress."

Starks's boastfulness and pride hasn’t got a limit. Even when they were scared. _Especially_ when they were scared.

The blond spit blood and saliva at his feet, not hiding his air of disgust for the young hero.

"You're welcome." Spider-Man sneered bitterly.

"Asshole..."

The legendary politeness of his cousin wasn't unfamiliar to him, however, it was a new thing to be able to retort him. In fact, it was a golden opportunity to take revenge, like the last time with Flash. Yet... Harley was his cousin. An idiot, yes, but he was family.

Peter sighed as he looked at the blonde who limped to the edge of the roof to take a look from their position in the city. He backed away quickly, fearing the void despite the fact that they were only a few feet off the ground.

"Great... just fucking great..." Peter heard him grumbled.

The beeps and the blinking of his watch were still regular. Iron Man was for sure coming. Whether it was a good thing or not, Peter feared the moment when he was going to have to face his uncle once again under the identity of Spider-Man. Everything tended to remind him of this horrible day.

Peter looked up to see his cousin staring at him. He didn't seem like a fanboy overly excited to meet a superhero. It wasn’t very surprising for someone who had just come close to being kidnapped, and who was used to be around heroes greater than the little spider that was the Queens' vigilante. His father was The Iron Man, after all. Who was Spider-Man beside him?

For a minute, both of the teenagers looked at each other. Peter didn't move, and Harley didn't neither. By mutual and silent agreement, they understood that there was no trap or danger coming from the other. Iron Man was Spider-Man's enemy, and he didn't hide his disdain for the vigilante at home: Harley was just following the example, which is why Peter gave up any idea of judgment towards the teenager who was standing in front of him, injured.

"So, um... how are you? I mean... you saved me, and... yeah, that was pretty violent. Was it alien tech?" Harley eventually broke the silence, clearing his throat.

Spider-Man crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring the pain over his ribs.

"I think so. You should talk about it to your daddy, and then maybe this story will finally be taken seriously by the Avengers."

"They're busy. Why don't you do it by yourself? You scared?" his cousin snapped back.

"As much you were, you little girl."

"At least I'm human, dipshit!"

They weren't going anywhere, Peter thought with a deep sigh. It reminded him of home, though.

"Okay, okay. We began on the wrong step. Look... I... I save people, that's it. You were in danger, so... I saved you. Nothing more. I did my job."

"And who tells me that it wasn't you who organized it? That it wasn't done on purpose? It happens, and you are there as if by magic, and you save the son of Iron Man. These guys may be working for you, and you're hoping for Iron Man to stop purchasing at you."

"Uh... I killed one of them, you missed that?"

Harley bit his lips, nervous.

"I don't trust you!"

Spider-Man raised his arms in the air in a gesture of exasperation.

"Fine! I don't care! Next time I’ll let them take you away and I'll eat popcorn while you're being beaten. Happy?"

"Jesus, how old are you?!"

The remark seemed to destabilize the vigilante who remained silent and withdrawn for the following minutes. Despite his constant efforts to change his voice, it still betrayed his young age. Damn, Peter hated being equated with a kid, let alone when he was Spider-Man.

"Uh... are you... vexed?" Harley asked awkwardly.

" _No_ ," he snapped, "I'm not!"

"Yes, you are!"

"Shut the fuck up or I throw you from the roof!"

The threat didn't seem to bother the blond who, despite his slightly shaken state, scoffed at Spider-Man's reactions. Fortunately for Peter, his hood was hiding his cheeks which were glowing red.

"You're definitely not that big of a tough guy that the press wants to show to us." He sniffed, massing his swollen forearm.

"Uh... Thanks?"

"That wasn't a compliment."

"Oh."

Harley smiled fleetingly, much less aggressive or offensive than before.

"I still owe you my life though, I guess. Damn, I thought I’d die before I could even..." His eyes were shining with tears, although he quickly blinked them away "... _live_."

 _Yeah, I know the feeling... I also know what it feels like to lose someone I love_. And the idea of dying is far more engaging then when you lose someone.

But, this time, Peter had acted in time. This time, he had lost no one.

"Does it hurt?" the vigilante asked, waving toward Harley's arm.

"No. Well, not yet."

 _Adrenaline_.

"First time?"

"It depends. Being kidnapped? Being beaten? Being a damsel in distress saved by Spider-Man?"

The young hero laughed.

"Yeah, forget it. You're alive, that's a good start." He idly checked his web-shooters. A filling would soon be necessary. "And... um, what..." He cleared his throat, fighting his stammer, "what are you going to say? I mean... about Spider-Man. A lot of people do not appreciate him, so, if they hear that he harmed a teenager..."

Great, as if his cousin didn't already doubt Spider-Man's motives enough: how to look suspicious in a single step.

For a few seconds Harley stared intently at him; Peter felt probed by the blue eyes of his cousin, despite his mask. That side was definitely from Pepper. Being Spider-Man didn't save him from this mysterious strength which was emanate from the blond.

"Why did you save me?"

"I _had_ to."

"Bullshit."

Peter frowned under his mask as the older pursued. "You didn't have to."

"I save people. People who need my help, I have no choice. I couldn't let this happen. I couldn't..."

I couldn't save Ben. And I couldn't let you die.

"You could have. You can also let all these people die. It's not your fucking business, after all. Yet... You chose to fight for them. For me. And you chose to kill people when you think they deserve to. My father choose to fight, too. Though there are always consequences... You probably already know it. His choices made him Iron Man. Impressive, isn't it? I asked for a _father_ , not Iron Man. Iron Man is never with me. And Spider-Man is a bad guy. That's what we read about him, and that's what his choices reflect on him."

It was ironic to note that Harley and Spider-Man had exchanged more words than Harley and Peter in several months. First of all, Peter thought it was going to sadden him, but instead he felt grateful to have a glimpse of his cousin's thoughts. It was going to be years that the two boys shared-nothing, let alone the feelings.

"I... I'm just Spider-Man. Nothing less, nothing more."

"Well, you risk everything in order to save people. If that's what ‘nothing more, nothing less’ means, then I think that it's already a good thing. Er, maybe not for, you know... killing people." Harley shrugged with a grimace. "It makes you a criminal."

He held back a bitter laugh, knowing that no matter what he did or would do, his powers made him a criminal. His simple existence was a crime.

A soft, shy voice, unrecognizable from his cousin's, interrupted his thoughts.

"Once my uncle said that... it's small, everyday deeds we do that make us who we are."

 _Ben_.

"You're a hero, someone that kids love because you're strong and powerful. But parents do not, because they can see the hatred in your choices."

It was a conversation that Peter had not expected to have with Harley — or with anyone, for that matter. He didn't know if it was his cousin or Ben's words that made him want to cry the most. He wished he could have more time to ponder about it, but in a flash, all of his body's hair suddenly rose.

_Uh oh._

Iron Man came as fast as a jet and landed like a bomb, his thrusters roaring deafeningly, right next to them before Peter could even do anything. Both teenagers gasped as the Avenger aimed a gauntlet right at Spider-Man who jumped and flipped back to the other side of the roof, coming back down in a semi-defensive and semi-offensive posture.

"YOU FUCKING STAY AWAY FROM HIM! I WON'T ASK TWICE!"

"D-Dad!" Harley stuttered, caught off guard by his father's aggressiveness.

"Stay behind me!" Tony grunted, putting his arm toward the blond to push him gently but firmly back. "And _you_..." His robotic voice was lower than usual — more threatening. "You piece of shit, how dare you hurt him?! You crossed a line, Spider-Man."

He was going to die. Iron-Man was going to pulverize him. The only reason Peter didn't tremble like a leaf before his uncle's oppressive rage was because every cell in his body was petrified. His eyes were wide and tearful of terror beneath his mask, as he struggled with his flight instinct. That surely wasn't what would save him from the fury that stood in front of him. Peter had never faced such hostility before. It was the pure and raw anger of a father scared for his child.

"No, Dad! It wasn't him! He saved me!"

Iron-Man didn't move from an inch, so Harley pulled desperately at his arm, trying to get his attention.

"Hey, hey... He saved me... don't hurt him, please."

This time, the man wasn't indifferent to his kid's plea. Slightly, he turned his head towards Harley and his helmet retracted; one hand was still pointing at the Queens' vigilante though, clearly intimating him not to move. He was deathly pale; darkened eyes by worrying, and closed lips in a trembling line. Peter understood that he wasn’t the most scared of the three.

"Harley. You're alright?" he eventually asked, eyes hardly leaving Spider-Man alone.

"I think my arm is broken..."

"F.R.I.D.A.Y.?"

" _Mini-Stark's arm is indeed fractured, boss. It's more precisely a non-displaced fracture of the radius. I recommend for immediate care to immobilize the wrist as soon as possible. Plus, I detect several partial contusions, along with a minor abdominal trauma._ "

Reluctantly, Tony glared one more time at Spider-Man before breaking eye-contact with the vigilante, his body quitting the armour while the pieces moved around him. The suit was still aiming at Spider-Man though.

"Come here." the man whispered, wrapping his arms gently around Harley who nuzzled his nose on his father's neck.

Tony Stark never showed his feelings in public, even less in front of a potential enemy, and yet it was what he was gratefully doing. Peter didn't move from his squatting position, however, he had relaxed slightly, his spider senses not warning him of immediate danger. So he just watched the two Starks hug with a respectful silence, not daring to break the moment with a random joke. His gaze met Harley's, who was still melting against the comforting presence of his father; he smiled at the vigilante, and Peter nodded slowly, taking the thanks.

Tony cautiously cupped Harley's face, "Never do this to me again, you hear me?"

It was only a whisper barely audible, but Peter didn't miss it. Then Tony pressed a soft kiss on his son's forehead, his thumbs rubbing fatherly his cheeks stained with dry blood.

"I'm fine. Could be better, but considering what had happened..."

"I'll get you to Cho, pal. Just wait a minute."

With a last stroke to his boy's hair, the Avenger turned toward Spider-Man. His gaze was still stern, but he didn't come back into his suit. Peter sniffed, getting up to his feet.

"Hello, Mr. Stark. Nice to see you."

"I'll lead an investigation. If I find out that you planned what had happened to Harley Stark, you're a dead man."

"Seems fair." He shrugged, internally impressed by his uncle's heavy looks. He pursued: "By the way, it isn't the first time I’ve met those weapons. Harley's can tell you about this shit, I guess. Someone owns and trafficked that alien tech, and I won't be apt to take care of this much longer."

_I don't want to affront this tech one more time._

Tony acquiesced with a small nod before re-entering into his Iron Man suit. The vigilante's muscles instinctively tensed, alerted. However, the man was now entirely focused on the blond. He leaned and put an arm under his son's legs, putting the other one on his back, holding him bridal style. Harley didn't struggle with his position. Instead, he settled more comfortably, sighing because of his wounds.

"Close your eyes" Tony advised him, knowing about Harley's vertigo, and he walked until the edge of the roof. "I've got you."

Peter blinked. _That was all?_ No fight?

"I let you go, Underoos, but just this time. For my son."

And with these last words, Iron Man flew away towards the Avengers' tower, tightly holding his son against his chest. Peter watched them disappear between the skyscrapers, a neutral expression on his face despite the cold sweat running down his back. He then ended up sitting cross-legged on the middle of the roof, rubbing a hand against his aching head.

_What the hell had happened?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it was important to put some Harley&Peter (Well, at least Spider-Man since Harley doesn't know...) and Harley&Tony passage in here. 
> 
> Have a good day! 
> 
> _Lufna_


	7. First Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya!
> 
> I guess this chapter mark the beginning of Homecoming, in the timeline of MCU movies ;) 
> 
> Thanks alifetime for every corrected chapter! 
> 
> Enjoy~

Peter sighed in frustration as he brought his thumb to his lips so he could keep biting his nail bloody; it was a familiar mannerism when he was stressed or anxious. Since becoming Spider-Man, his nails were rarely long enough to have a clean white line of growth. His gaze was rooted on the screen of his phone as he watched, with earphones plugged in his ears, the news of the day before concerning the attack which had occurred at the subway station on line 7, two days earlier.

" _This place has been rummaged, cleaned, and the station is now reopened. It's with great relief that we learned from the CEO of Stark Industries, Pepper Stark, that the young man who was the victim of an assault and attempted kidnap, Harley Stark, is now safe, with minor injuries. Authorities remain on guard over any possible attack, though, it would not be wise to lay into Iron Man,"_ the reporter said. The last sentence was said with a giggle. Then the screen switched with a recent interview with his uncle.

" _Mr. Stark! Do you think it was a Hydra's attack_?" a male journalist somewhere in the crowd asked, holding a mic. 

" _If Hydra was suddenly content with doing a shoddy, third rate job, ending in overwhelming failure faced by a teenager boy and a cheap clandestine vigilante, then yes, in that case, it would be Hydra_." Accompanied by his famous, false smile, Tony sneered bitterly as his face which was continuously lit by the flashes of the cameras. " _Fortunately, it was only a bunch of clowns with powerful toys that they didn't know how to use. They left with tail’s between their legs, and these cowards are not about to return._ "

That was exactly what he had feared: Tony never took it seriously, and he probably never would.

Peter sighed, tasting the blood of his thumb over his tongue as he bit further on the nail. Of course, the criminals had fled before Iron Man or the police were on the scene. The only witnesses remaining having been the corpses. Shame that they were not of a talkative nature, because Tony would surely have given a pair of repulsor blasts to their bodies to get answers.

When Happy had called him a few minutes after the attack on his cousin to check where he had been, Peter had replied that he had gone to get a sandwich at Mr. Delmar's. No one doubted his answer since the teenager often made this detour to the small deli’s store before returning home. He must have pretended to be surprised when he learned what had happened to Harley, nevertheless, it didn't cause him any problem since lying was second nature to him. Against all odds, he had good acting. Despite his poor attempts, Harley refused to have an ounce of conversation with Peter. He barely spoke to Tony or Pepper; the truth was that he had kept himself locked in his room after Helen Cho's visit from hours ago, probably to meditate on everything that had happened to him. Peter did not insist and left his cousin alone just like he had wished. He was safe—Spider-Man had done his work. These few words comforted him at the idea of having definitively lost his relationship with Harley. It was _poor_ comfort. 

For now, Tony had required that Harley should be escorted wherever he goes through city, and if it was not for his condition then it was for his safety. The blond had almost been hysterical at the news but had quickly given up in understanding his father's decision wouldn't change. Peter was about to inherit the same treatment, but thanks to a few puppy looks and a convincing speech about "Peter Parker is not a prime target compared to Harley", he had been allowed to continue travelling alone in the city. 

" _Spider-Man was there to save your son, does he work with you?_ " 

Tony scoffed with a snort. 

" _I do not work with criminals._ "

It still hurt; knowing that his uncle was implying Steve and the others. 

" _We all saw videos of Iron Man, a few weeks ago, purchasing Spider-Man through New York. Why did you let him go when he was in front of you?_ "

" _My son needed immediate medical attention. Between him and Spider-ling, my choice was made."_

" _Since Spider-Man saved your boy, will you continue to hunt him down?_ "

" _Of course. He does not respect the Sokovia Accords, and we don't need this guy to monkey around. I'll take care of him._ "

Iron Man was still his enemy. Peter’s placed a hand to his tired face, rubbing it slowly when the bus stopped in front of the school. 

The simple act of getting up required an almost superhuman effort. From an outside point of view of this pitiful scene, he might have laughed. Too bad _he_ was the funny little nerd, avoiding carefully all the feet which were waiting for his passage to try to make him fall. Someone still managed to, and he ended up landing face-first on the concrete floor, grunting under a wave of laughs. _Even the driver?! Hell... assholes_.

Although he was tempted to lie on the floor of the bus until the day was over, the teenager still forced himself up and then drag himself into the school establishment. It was a new day that was beginning.

Instinctively he went into autopilot mode. His mind cleared of all thoughts as he walked, face blank, through the corridors of Midtown, sometimes dodging a student here and there. The commotion was still infernal for his sensitive ears, as were the bright lights that came from the neon lights hanging from the ceiling; at best, it usually gave him repetitive migraines. At worst, he could have an anxiety attack, in which case he ended up curled up in a high school closet, crying. _Just don't focus_. Peter ignored all the annoying looks levelled at him when he had to fight his way through the crowd, sometimes by playing with his elbow, and when he was finally in front of his locker, he held back a victorious sigh. The first fight of the day successful.

What could be victorious would be to get hold of those damned rats that used this tech, Peter mentally grumbled as he opened his locker. Better yet: find the person who sold these weapons. It was high time that this bloody traffic ended, Peter was not a fan of—

"Join me, and together, we'll build my new lego Death-Star..." a fake deep voice greeted him over his shoulder. At the same time, a little figurine held by his best friend. 

Joy and excitement skyrocketed suddenly inside him as he turned towards Ned. 

"What?!"

A group of girls beside them scoffed, to which he struggled with holding back his middle finger.

"No way, that’s awesome, dude," he smiled dreamily, "how many pieces?"

"3,803!"

"That's insane..." he mumbled, closing his locker. 

"I know! Wanna build it tonight at May's?"

"Um, I don't know, I’m very tired..."

Even if it was partly an excuse, there was still a part of the truth inside his lie. Though Ned pursued, trying to convince him. Peter chewed the inside of his cheek pensively before stopping straight when he took sight right before them of his cousin's group, encompassed with other random students all looking up at Harley.

"Hell...! It must have been sooo scary! I can't believe it happened to you, dude!"

"Well," the concerned proudly sniffed "I can't say that I was laughing when they were using knives, and guns, and alien tech around me, but, ya know, I'm kinda _used_ to this..."

A girl touched his plaster cast, wrapped from his wrist to his elbow, with an impressed expression, "And... you met Spider-Man?"

Harley froze for a second before his mocking grin went back to his scratched lips. 

"Yeah. Smaller guy than I thought. And I think he smokes — his voice is weird..."

 _Noted_ , Peter mused, still observing with Ned oddly interested.

"It was like a roller coaster, but without a seatbelt. Cool to see, not cool to live, though." 

Harley was a hopeless boaster, and what had happened to him was a golden opportunity to act tough. There is always good in evil, even when it was an attempted abduction. But if he was boastful, then it was that he was alive. 

Briefly, the eyes of the two boys met; Peter saw dark blue and black shades on the left side of his cousin's face, testifying to the assault he had experienced two days earlier. He wasn't the one who had inflicted the blows. However, Peter felt guilty for not having been able to prevent Harley from being injured. And he had no way to apologize, or express his regret — that was probably what gnawed him the most.

The blond eventually looked away first, getting his playful and prideful air back, and continued on his way, always accompanied by his fan crowd.

Peter bowed his head, fighting the feeling of rejection that engulfed him each time he had any interaction with his cousin.

"Dude. Your cousin is so lucky..."

He turned abruptly to his best friend. 

"Someone tried to _kidnap_ him." 

"Yeah, I know, but... dude, he met Spider-Man! That is awesome! I would sell my lego Death-Star just to have Spider-Man in the same room as me. Did he tell you about him? Oh, c'mon dude, you _have_ to tell me!"

Peter couldn't help a small smile at the communicative excitement of his friend; he still didn't understand what Ned found in Spider-Man, but, somehow, it warmed his heart.

"No, you know that he never tells me anything. Spider-Man just saved his spoiled ass."

Ned stared at him, confused.

"Uh... I know that Iron Man is your uncle, but... why are you all against Spider-Man in this family?" he said, obviously upset. 

"...I don't know, dude. I don't know." 

Something was preventing him from singing Spider-Man's praises. Peter was an unconditional fan of Star Wars. He also loved Harry Potter, and Tolkien universe, not forgetting all the fabulous and incredible stories of superheroes who forged his childhood. Living with heroes could have trivialized his love for all of these fantastic and surreal things since it had become his daily routine, but the truth was that he remained a kid with eyes shining with wonder every time he saw Iron Man in action, Natasha taking care of an entire security system on her own, Thor summoning thunder, Wanda using her magic, or Steve lifting helicopters with his bare hands. Nothing could take away from him the excitement that took hold of him when he observed a real hero. Ned had never been the only one to act like a hopeless fanboy. 

Nevertheless, this time, Ned was the only one to admire Spider-Man.

Maybe he was just tired of being disappointed by the figures he used to idolized so much. Maybe in another life, he could have been that teenager in the shoes of a new hero, brimming with joie de vivre and wanting to prove himself. It was obviously not that life, though.

For the moment, saving innocent lives suited him. It was the goal he set for himself when his powers had appeared, and that was the goal he would keep until his last day. But... maybe the opportunity had come to do more. 

Every small action counts, Harley had said to Spider-Man. So... why not try this theory?

But how do we make things better? Where are the instructions? Peter thought about this during lunch break, half-listening to Ned and MJ talking. What could be the step one?

Stop killing? Ugh, no. He did not particularly like taking lives, Spider-Man was not a psychopath with criminal needs, but in no case was he going to stop making a judgment worthy of the name on people who deserved death.

Peter slowly chewed his food while watching Liz Allan hang a banner promoting Homecoming; it goes without saying that the teenager was not a fan of this kind of party, especially when he was already hearing all the other students giggling stupidly in excitement. Plus, he knew his uncle wouldn't let him miss another party this time. Tony surely liked to try to integrate Peter with other kids around his age, and thus get him out of his room. Too bad that thinking about it gave him a headache.

"Are you ogling at Liz's skirt, loser?"

"Yeah..."

Since he could feel strange looks on him, Peter blinked and turned his head toward them. 

"Wait, uh? W-what were you saying?"

Michelle grinned slyly, "Nothing. I got my answer anyway." 

Ned laughed and Peter frowned in a pouting way. That was what friends were for, after all. 

Over the following hours, Peter could feel the familiar thrill spread through his muscles as the minutes that passed brought him closer to his freedom. His eyes hardly left the clock, as if time would slow down as soon as he looked away. But it was probably the reverse. 

Fortunately, he was able to free his mind by focusing on his spider-formulas during chemistry since the young vigilante decided to make new reserves of fluids for his web-shooters; he had become quite accustomed to the materials and solutions to manipulate to do his own science and this under the eyes of the professor — Peter enjoyed testing his luck.

Then, the bell finally rang. 

As usual, he was one of the first outside the classroom, soon running somewhere in the city, seeking for sure — or not that much sure — a place to change. An alley would do. 

**.**

Act better, act better...

Spider-Man used to devote his whole free time by helping people. This being said, he still had to admit that he stepped in most of the time when he felt it was necessary. In other words, when it was a matter of life and death for the victims. But was it not the Avengers' mentality? Should he only intervene when it was a big game up to him?

Every small action can give a better picture of him, he knew that it was what Harley meant.

God, it was so stupid. He was not there to make friends. Besides, the government (or Iron Man) were not going to change their mind about the vigilante just because he was now helping grannies to cross the street.

He groaned, scratching the back of his head. Why did he think that way? If he had to change anything, it certainly wouldn't be for Ross or his uncle, but for the people of Queens. Because... maybe there was still hope that he was not a monster and because those people were in his heart. They were worth a lot to him.

For the first time since his mutation, Peter swang through the streets of New York with reluctance and growing apprehension knotted inside his stomach. It was obvious that he wasn't confident. Despite it, though, he held his head high and watched life swarming beneath him until he spotted a man running away with a bicycle — a stolen one, for sure. Well, now was the time to move on to change. Or at least try to. 

Accompanied by a big smile, he landed right in front of the guy, preventing him from moving further, and then raised his fist by force of habit, ready to do his usual job. However, he noticed the looks of passers-by all around him, filled with terror and indignation. Hm. Yep, maybe repainting the thief’s face was not an appropriate punishment for simple bicycle theft. Peter stared at the man who was uncertain, surely waiting for his death, and after a short moment, he decided to just hang him on a nearby pole.

"Hey, can you hold this for a second? Thanks!"

He sneered as he watched the guy suddenly fly several feet away and swing slightly up and down like a yoyo. It was fun. Without a word, he put the bicycle against the nearest wall and jumped away.

It was also funny to note that he had gotten a churro by helping a lady find her way. Her smile had been so sincere and grateful that he could not refuse the gift. But if he had accepted it, it was only because he was hungry, he assured himself with red cheeks, tasting the churro, hiding carefully out of sight. It was later in the day, after spending the previous hours with other little actions just as futile. And yet, against all odds, he didn't feel useless. Nor even ridiculous. No one died today. It was a strange change. 

Peter knew that he was not going to be able to keep this daily routine forever because even if these last hours were kind of restful, he knew that something more serious awaited him.

Peter never wanted to be confronted with this technology anymore. He knew the strength and the limits of Spider-Man, but he couldn't hide the fact that he had never been closer to death than the only two times he had to deal with these weapons. Fear was a strong brake.

Deep down, Peter knew this traffic that involved these weapons was just beginning and that it would be a big mistake to ignore it.

Tony Stark hadn't taken him seriously. It didn't really surprise him, although he had a tiny hope after the incident with Harley. He also hadn't seen any trace of any Avenger around Queens, investigating this alien tech. That's why the teenager knew that the only person capable of taking this seriously was Spider-Man.

If Iron Man in person didn't care about that, then no one was going to scramble to save the people of Queens. Peter had to get involved. He _had_ to neutralize, eradicate this threat for good. It was new, impressive, scary, crazy and very dangerous. Was it a good deed?

Pete watched the setting sun for a long time, stuck to a window in the middle of a skyscraper, enjoying the orange colors of the sky in soothing silence. Sometimes he watched the cars and civilians beneath him carelessly pursuing their lives, wondering briefly to himself if he might ever be worthy of being responsible for this peace one day.

Peace is fleeting, it never lasts very long. Peter knew this truth. But he would do everything to make it last as long as possible.

Considering that by dint of wanting to play the hero, he was surely living his last days before suffering yet another umpteenth, last, and fatal confrontation with this technology. Then maybe it would be good to make some last... concessions. Including putting his pride aside and doing something he should have done several weeks ago: thanks Flash.

Thinking of his previous confrontation with these weapons inevitably led him to think of the boy. By the way, he unintentionally saved his life, by the way, he took care of him throughout that night, by the way, he kept the whole secret about what he witnessed, and the way Spider-Man never sincerely thanked him. It didn't leave his mind. Never. Peter inhaled deeply as he ran a hand over his face, hesitating a bit before coming down from his perch: hopefully, he would sleep with a liberated spirit tonight.

**.**

When Peter got up in the morning, he would never have imagined that he would find himself climbing the walls of a chic Midtown building, in order to go chat with his childhood bully. However, that was what was happening.

It was a pretty densely populated and lively neighbourhood, even after the sundown. Thus, Spider-Man made sure to remain as discreet as possible while he slowly put his hands against the brick walls facing him, gradually going up to a particular window. To tell the truth, he was only 55% certain of the floor on which Flash lived, so let alone the right window... Peter used all his enhanced senses to try to find his classmate's room without having to stick his face to every window he reached. He practically had to spin around the building to find the right place. Thank God it was the front of the building on the Parking side, although this same parking lot reminded him of unpleasant memories. He suppressed these thoughts as he hoisted himself up to the window sill.

_Please, be his room, and please, please, don't be naked. I don't want to be traumatized._

Suddenly, of a suddenness rare in the whole history of suddenness, Peter came face to face with a cat.

Peter let out a ridiculous, tiny cry, almost falling by losing his grip. The cat jumped back, yowling and hissing, its fur spiky all over his body.

Ok, that was not planned. Definitely not.

Grumbling words between his teeth, the vigilante returned to the edge of the window and froze when he perceived Flash walking into the room, a steaming cup in hand.

"Hey, what's wrong you moro—" he began, glancing at the frightened animal which was rushing under the bed with an annoyed look, before noticing the figure squatted at his window. Then it was his turn to let out a small, shocked squeak.

The cup slipped from the teenager's hands and crashed loudly on the floor.

"What was that?" a strong irritated voice sounded from the living room.

Even if he couldn't see it, Peter frowned in a menacing way and put his index against his own lips to order Flash's discretion. The teenager swallowed hardly, hands shaking. 

"N-Nothing, father... It was Mister!"

"That damn beast..." the hoarse voice muttered.

The boy carefully closed the bedroom's door before turned toward Spider-Man. His eyes were opened wide whilst the only thing he could do was to stare at the vigilante. In a way, Peter thought the situation funny. It was still good to appear impressive, especially with his childhood bully. God, Flash seemed scared like shit. Actually, he was probably wondering if Spider-Man was here to kill him, so much evidence of their previous meeting would disappear with him.

"Mr. Spider-Man... w-why are you here...?"

"I'm here to kill you."

Flash's face turned blank in a second and his jaw cracked open, stunned. 

Okay, it wasn't the best joke to say right now. 

So he held his hands up in a reassuring way, "I'm kidding."

"O-oh God..." his childhood bully sighed as he tottered slightly until his back rested against the closed door. "You really scared me, Mr. Spider-Man..."

Since Flash seemed to recover from his fear, Peter took advantage of the opportunity to look around the bedroom. It was... big. Pretty luxurious, but nothing really excessive: a large bed, a desk, a chest of drawers and... well, he couldn't ignore the tall poster of Spider-Man that was right above the headboard.

Flash understood what Spider-Man was looking at and he blushed. Kinda awkward — even creepy — but the vigilante didn’t emphasize it. 

"Sorry for interrupting your night." Peter started coming down from the window; he didn't want to be noticed or pictured here tonight and perched at a window several feet from the ground. "You can relax, I don't eat people."

Flash slowly took himself off from the door.

"I prefer to break necks."

This time he couldn't help but chuckle when he saw Flash's expression. The concerned look was still more or less petrified, taking some breaths to calm down while his eyes examined Spider-Man from head to toe as if to check if he was real. Peter had to admit that it was not an ordinary situation and that if he had been in Flash's shoes, he would surely have reacted in an equally anxious way. So the least Peter could do was not to beat around the bush and state the real reason for his presence here. Although a small part of him remained reluctant to say the mere gentle word to the boy who had done so much harm to him in the past. His anger towards Flash was reasonable, but now he was here...

"I just wanted to...to thank you."

"Thank me...?" Flash repeated hesitantly. 

"Yep. You saved me."

"I... I just—" 

"Whatever you did, it saved me." Peter stepped forward and sat at the end of the bed. "I was bleeding out. If I had stayed there, I'd have died. Or worse: someone would have called the cops. You also could have sent me directly to a hospital, or a police station, and then... in any case, it'd have been Spider-Man's end. But you took care of my wound and waited for me to wake up. I can tell you that without this first heal, I wouldn't be here right now to talk to you. So a ‘thanks’ seems pretty fair."

If he had seen the blush that spread across Flash's cheeks, then Peter decided to say nothing about it. The boy enthusiastically licked his lips, visibly finding his words.

"I'm glad I did help you, Mr. Spider-Man! Really. You already do so much for the people of New York... you deserve support."

_Go tell that to Thaddeus Ross or his dear uncle…_

Now that Flash had gotten his thanks Peter was tempted to get up and go. However, the excitement that he perceived on the teenager's face held him back — he succinctly remembered the disappointment that had settled on this same face when they first met, when the vigilante had been about leaving after only a few short minutes of dialogue.

Noticing Spider-Man's absence of reaction, Flash cleared his throat and continued.

"I-I saw you in the news two days ago. If it wasn't for Spider-Man, then Harley Stark would probably be dead. To be clear, I don't like Harley, but... He's in my school, so I see him every day. Plus, he's kind of the attraction of Midtown. It would have freak me out if he had been killed. But thanks to you, he's alive. You're awesome!"

The boy laughed whilst Peter shrugged. All shyness seemed to have vanished.

"It's just... damn, I can't believe I'm talking to you, Mr. Spider-Man. I thought that I had dreamed the last time... This is... insane! I'm talking to a hero..."

They weren't sharing the same definition of ‘hero’, even if deep down Peter was not that insensitive to his childhood bully. It was perhaps this same part of him that cared about others’ opinions and hoped to be someone appreciated. A model. 

Peter suddenly stood up when he noticed that Flash was approaching him, gaining confidence.

"First, stop with the "Mr" thing, it's awkward, I'm not that old. And secondly... does a hero flee like a coward? That's what I did. That’s what I always do. So... you'd better change your poster with an Iron Man one."

He started walking towards the window and stopped just in front before turning his head slightly over his shoulder.

"Er... you know the rules, right? I don't need to threaten you again?"

To his surprise, Flash smiled in return, despite the anxiety that shone in his eyes.

"You just indirectly did it."

"True. So mouth shut, or I'll kill you. Have a good night!"

Rather than climbing the window edges to exit the room, he jumped through the opening, arms outstretched forward and the body compliantly and flexibly following the movement as he heard a small "bye" coming from the room in which he was a few seconds earlier. Forcing himself to stay focused on his swings, he said nothing nor turned his head behind. He felt himself being watched by Flash. A grin had settled on his lips under his mask. Peter had been right. He felt lighter now that he had thanked the boy.

A vibration in his pocket brought the young vigilante out of his thoughts; he continued on his way, shooting webs with one hand and taking out his phone with the other to read the message.

 **06:27 PM, Happy** : I already brought your stuff at May's, so no need to stop at the tower. Want me to pick you?

 **06:27 PM, Peter:** No, thanks! See you Sunday

 **06:28 PM, Happy:** Ok.

He was pretty near the tower since he was still at Midtown so he was tempted to say goodbye to his aunt Pepper, though he knew that May would be worried if he takes too long for going home, thus he kept swinging peacefully through New York toward the Queens. 

**06:30 PM, Happy:** Don’t cause trouble, Tony is busy enough.

Peter appreciated it from grumpy Happy because he knew that if he read between the lines then it meant "take care of yourself and stay safe". He smiled, musing that this night is a pretty good night. 

He returned to the alley in which he had changed earlier to retrieve his things. But it was with hardly concealed frustration that he realized that all of his stuff — including his clothes — wasn’t where he left them. The teenager kicked an empty can which lied on the filthy ground of the deserted alley.

"Shit! Super, mega, ultra shit!"

Let's say that Happy had jinxed him.

So it would be a new backpack and a new pair of shoes that he would have to buyback. Money with the Starks was not a problem — even for May who had decided to live a modest life with no special luxuries. That didn’t mean to say Peter didn't like having to ask others to pay for him. But since he had no job, no pocket money, and he was certainly not going to steal from his aunt May's wallet, he was going to have to admit that he lost his stuff and therefore find an excuse for it. No troubles, huh.

Peter kept grumbling about nonsensical things as he made his way to his Queens apartment, making sure to be discreet — the dark colors of his suits helped with that aspect.

When he got to the building he carefully climbed the walls to his window, opened it as quietly as possible, knowing that it usually creaked like hell, then he sneaked inside, sticking to the ceiling. For a moment, May hadn't noticed anything; she must be cooking something awful in the kitchen if the teenager judged by his sense of smell. He winced slightly as he removed his hood, feeling already discomforted by the smoke coming from the oven. He then breathed a sigh of relief when he could reach the door and close it. Mission accomplished, now he just needed to change.

Softly, he let himself land on the ground, turning around. And froze. Mouth open wide as Ned did.

 _Ned_. 

Ned. Here. _Witnessing_ Peter being Spider-fucking-Man. Holy—

A heavy crash echoed inside the room when Ned let the lego construction escape from his shaking hands and it was enough to get Peter out of his stupor.

"What was what?!" May asked loudly from the kitchen.

The vigilante hurriedly removed his sweatshirt, almost tearing it up as if that was what would save the situation until he was dressed only in his pants.

 _Okay. Brain, use your brain._  
First, May. 

"Nothing! Everything is fine!" 

_Convincing_. 

"You're the Spider-Man... From Youtube..."

 _Nope. This wasn't happening_. 

"No, I'm not!" he said urgently whilst his heart raced. 

"You were on the ceiling!"

_It was happening._

Oh, god, he couldn't lie anymore, Ned saw him. _Ned saw him_. 

"I wasn't!" Peter lied nevertheless, by instinct, "What the fuck are you doing in my room?!"

_Maybe he should knock him out? And then, when the boy would eventually wake up, he'd tell him that he just fell and all he thought he had seen was just a dream?_

"I-I told you at school that I would come so we can finish together with the Death Star; May let me in!"

"Wha— No, you can't just bust into my room—"

May busted into his room, laughing and jabbering about her cook fails. Should he knock out her too? 

And, of course, since he was standing next to Ned, without a top on, his aunt was now looking at him with a ‘shit, I interrupted something, right?’ expression. For the first time in his life, he almost regretted taking the plunge and coming out about his bisexuality, a year before Ben's death. Since May had always had a lot of fun by teasing her nephew anytime he's speaking to another guy. If she didn't right now, it was probably because it looked 'serious'. Fighting the feeling of irking that was rising inside him, Peter smiled clumsy and rocked his body weight from one foot to other as May finally exited the room after the Thai proposition. 

"You should... put some clothes on."

Then she was gone. 

In a flash, he turned towards his best friend. _So, what now?_ His friend knew. He knew for Spider-Man, and thus it made him his problem number one.

"Oooh... she doesn't know!?"

"Of course she doesn't!" he retorted vehemently while he was putting on the first piece of clothing he saw. "Nobody is supposed to know, Ned."

His friend, still dumbfounded by what he had just discovered, didn't pay any attention to Peter's furious and threatening tone. It was barely if he could keep standing. 

"Oooh myyy Goood. Dude. Dude! This is _amazing_!"

 _Should he kill Ned?_

"I can't believe you're Spider-Man... This is the coolest I've ever seen! It’s crazy!"

 _No_. He _couldn't_ kill him, of course. But he _should_. Ned was threatening every-single-fucking-thing he had built as Spider-Man.

"I thought you hated Spider-Man, but, this... oh, dude! You absolutely have to tell everyo—"

"NO!"

He had neither the time, nor the patience, nor the urge to handle his friend with kid gloves. It was something he could not allow, the stake was vital. Peter rushed sharply towards Ned to grab him by the collar and shove him against the wall just next to the bunk-bed, using his superhuman strength to lift him a few inches from the ground.

Any trace of wonder or fascination that had been on Ned's face was now replaced by fear and incomprehension.

"Peter...?"

Right at this moment, Peter felt like the shittiest person in the world.

Although he was the one who physically had the upper hand, the one who was the strongest and the most inhuman, Peter remained in a way the one who was in a weak position. He could never kill his friend, so if Ned decided to tell everyone the truth, nothing would stop him. This is why Peter was playing the bluff card.

"Ned. This isn't a game. This isn't awesome neither. No one is supposed to know who Spider-Man is. No one can know. You get it?" he whispered firmly.

"Y-Yes...?"

"Fuck, Ned, I'm serious! You're involved into this shit now! Both of us are in danger! Everyone wants Spider-Man dead, so if you aren't able to keep a single fucking secret, then..." he swallowed, and begrudgingly pursued, "I should kill you right now. I'm pretty comfortable with the killing and hiding bodies thing."

The glint of betrayal that suddenly began to glisten into the eyes of his best friend broke the vigilante's heart. _Sorry, Ned..._

He wanted so badly to hug him and apologize.

"Peter, I... I'm your friend... You can trust me..."

"Promise me. Promise me that you'll keep your mouth shut. I know that all of this is crazy, but it's happening anyway and I can’t risk to let people know about me. My family would..."

He downed his head, defeated, but still keeping Ned against the wall. 

"As you said... they hate Spider-Man. They..."

"It's okay. I understand. I promise you, Peter."

"They can't know. No one can."

Ned slowly nodded as Peter eventually put him down. The vigilante took a step back, then a long silence settled inside the room. They could barely make eye contact, so initiating a talk would be delicate. Ned was his best friend in the world and Peter was now an incredible dickhead. 

He knew that despite the fear of the death threats, Ned was still wrapped in this aura of excitement and he was dying to whoop. If the situation had not been so tense the boy would surely have continued to be unable to hold still, and unable to stifle his enthusiasm for Spider-Man. Secretly, Peter knew he would have loved to share this elation.

"Um... are we still... friends?"

A quavering and loud sigh escaped from Peter's mouth as he met Ned's gaze with his own. Okay, _ouch_.

"Of course... I just felt like I've been driven into a corner. As long as you don't tell anyone what you saw—"

"Dude, I said I won't tell." Against all odds, Ned smiled, "Plus I can't denounce my Lego-Death-Star-Builder-Partner. You, and me, it's for forever." 

That gave Peter a long pause. He held his breath, assimilating slowly that he was a dick, and then his shoulders slouched. He smiled back nevertheless. He was probably the most scared of the two, even if Ned didn't see the things in the same way right now. Hug his friend or even apologize would be so hypocritical, so he kept his distance.

"Tony doesn't know, I guess..."

The vigilante shook his head, "Spider-Man is better dead, with him."

"I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be."

The situation was growing clumsy, so Peter walked toward his door and opened it for Ned. 

"You should go home."

Ned suddenly seemed panicked.

"I have to be honest with you. This is still super cool, and I think you should tell me all about those cool things!"

Peter raised an eyebrow.

"Dude," the boy laughed nervously, "are you gonna hit me? Because you look like you're gonna hit me, and, to be pretty honest, I don't like being hi—"

"Ned!"

"Okay, okay! I'm going!"

Ned made haste to leave the room and Peter blinked as he heard series of "this is so cool". All tensions fell down and it was like if Peter could breathe again; only if he disregarded the guilt that was already gnawing him from the inside. 

Spider-Man wasn't good enough for anything. Peter wasn't good enough for everyone.


	8. Liz's Lame Party

If Peter had been able to avoid Ned's messages over the weekend, he had no choice but to face him now that they were at school – especially in their P.E. class. 

Peter clicked his tongue against his palate, marking his annoyance toward his best friend while the boy was peppering him with endless and foolish questions. Maybe breaking his neck the other day wouldn't have been such a bad idea, after all. Well, it was surely a radical thought, but Ned had a knack for teasing his nerves even when it wasn't his goal. He barely listened to him though, but knowing that Ned was openly evoking Spider-Man disturbed Peter. Hadn't he mentioned discretion? Meh... putting 'Ned' and 'discretion' in the same sentence was a big joke, he should know that.

"Do your shoes stick to surfaces too? Oh! And can you stick to every surface you want? Glass? Wood? Ice?"

 _Jesus_...

Opting to shut down the part of him that was entertained by his friend's curiosity and which wanted to participate in this monologue, Peter tried to listen to the other conversations around them. Anything that could take him away from the subject of his alter-ego.

So it was the abundance of choices then, among all the other talking points in the gymnasium that his ears could perceive. However, a conclusion quickly came to his mind when he heard the name of the Queen’s vigilante coming out of the mouths of several groups: he was cursed. 

Peter sighed. Why was the whole world always against him?

Or... with him? 

All the conversations about the vigilante weren't that bad. Even if it always gave him a strange feeling when he admitted having ‘fans’, a small voice in his head whispered to him to savour his power and this popularity because it wasn't unpleasant after so much time to feel a little loved and accepted for _once_ in his life. Bad thoughts or not, it was _good_. No one would know, anyways. It was his secret. 

Peter focused unconsciously on Liz and her friends’ group — but mostly her; his young heart suddenly beat harder in his chest whilst he could feel a hot sensation spreading on his cheeks. Thankfully he could still hold sport responsible for this; Ned's incessant natter ended therefore when he began to follow the vigilante's gaze. Then, he listened to the words spoken about Spider-Man; Peter just stared at how the girl's lips move, hypnotized. However, as soon as their eyes met, Peter turned back and continued his training streak.

Let's be clear about it: he tolerated her. He wasn't in love. It wasn't his thing. Love was a mysterious riddle that he hadn't time to worry about.

Liz was smart and pretty. Nevertheless, he would never play with someone’s heart, especially if the only reason behind this was sex or something else that had just as much impact.

Even if he was obviously attracted to her, he wouldn't venture into a story he might regret afterwards. Peter didn't want a romantic relationship, he knew he couldn't manage to make something like that work for him. Besides, he had a lot of respect for Liz. She deserved someone good enough.

"Peter knows Spider-Man!"

If Peter had had a mirror right before him, then he could have made fun of his own stunned expression as he looked towards his best friend, horrified, who was sharing the same shocked face. Both of them were gaping at the mouth. 

He gets to his feet with an energetic jump, eyes darting frantically all around him.

"No! No, I-I, I don't," a nervous and sour laugh came out of his mouth, "I don't know Spider-Man. Well, m-my uncle may have met him once or twice, b-but that isn't something I'm supposed to talk about."

The vigilante glowered at his friend. It was _exactly_ the reason why he hadn't wanted to involve Ned into his bigger and darker secret. The boy shifted awkwardly with a sorry look and Peter sighed. It was done. He’d better try to fix this while it was still possible, even if it meant trying to no pass out under all those stares and this attention from _all_ the students of the gymnasium. 

"Of course you don't know him. There is no way you know someone as cool as Spider-Man, dickwad." Flash suddenly took part in the situation, to Peter's displeasure.

He blinked at his childhood bully who was still approaching in a mocking and pride pace and struggled to hold back a bitter quip. It wasn't the best time to get noticed. "Y-yeah. That's what I s-said..." _Damn stutter_. "I do not know Spider-Man."

There was a short silence before he could feel a low level of danger coming from Flash. 

"You _don't_ deserve to know him. Because of your uncle, there are tons of dumb wanted notices of Spider-Man everywhere at Midtown!"

He got shoved once. 

"Spider-Man saved your cousin's ass, not to mention the hundreds of other lives that he cared about."

He got shoved twice. 

"And _this_ is the thanks he gets." 

The third time Flash shoved him, he didn't stumble back; his feet were resolutely stuck to the floor. Peter was seriously attempting to retaliate against his bully. 

"Hey." Ned carefully placed himself between Flash and Peter. "Easy, man."

"It's okay." He could hear Liz say in a soft voice. "It is not his fault, Flash. Don't blame him for his uncle's choices."

Flash snorted and held both of his hands up for a second, a smirk on his face. 

"Sure. Let's spare Peter-Dummy-Parker. 'Cause what? He's not like Tony Stark?" Another laugh.

Peter held his breath and looked down because it was what Peter Parker always does.

"Why don't you invite Spider-Man to Liz's party, then? Since you're used to talking with people you aren't worthy to share the same air with."

Indeed, it wasn't everyone who could boast about growing up with the Avengers. No one never let him forget that, just as if it was a crime. And sometimes it happened to him to _believe_ that he was worth nothing because he had the misfortune of being born into the 'wrong' family.

He only paid half-attention to Liz reacting at the mention of her party.

"—Harley was invited a few days ago. But, of course, you and Ned are welcome tonight too." She gently smiled at him as he fought a blush. 

"Thanks…"

With a last glare, Flash eventually let him alone. It was as if he had been given permission and the ability to breathe again.

He turned abruptly to his best friend, hardly holding back the anger that rumbled in him.

"Ned?! What the hell?!"

"I'm so sorry! I tried to tell you last day: I'm unable to keep secrets!"

"Yeah. I saw."

His friend's face suddenly turned white. 

"You're gonna kill me?" he deadpanned. 

"No." Peter rolled his eyes, still annoyed. "You had one job, dude. Keep your mouth shut."

This time, Ned seemed very guilty. 

"It's just... _You're Spider-Man_. They... You heard that too, they all love you. How can you keep this secret? You could have so many friends if they know who you truly are."

It would be a lie if Peter said that he never thought about it. Particularly when it all had started, and he had been thrilled by his new powers that had allowed the teen to give him a reason to why he lived among the greatest heroes on the planet — when he had been believing it was a stupid story of destiny. Though, reality had caught up with him soon enough to let him understand that his mutation wasn't considered as a gift by everyone. Spider-Man's identity was better kept secret.

"I don't need thousands of friends, Ned. I only need you and MJ."

A smile enlightened his friend's face. The same friend that he had death-threatened. 

"Aw, I was sure you needed your guy in the chair!"

"Uh?" 

"Guy in the chair." Ned articulated distinctly every word. "You know... a computer-genius who knows everything, anytime, and anywhere. You definitely need this guy to your sides, and guess what?"

Ned taps twice on his chest. 

"I _am_ this guy! Well... I could be. Just need a bit of practice and incidentally your acceptance."

"Ned... no."

"But whyyy?" He sounded so disappointed. "Okay, my coding skills are a little rusty, but, dude, you have to give me a chance."

"I hacked F.R.I.D.A.Y., I don't need anyone’s help."

"YOU HACKED HER?!" 

"SHHHH!" 

The boy looked like he was about to faint; Peter gripped his arm. 

"Look... I know you want to help me. Thanks for this, but... I'm fine. I can do this on my own."

"But... what if something happens to you? It would happen because I could have done something but I would not have because you'd tell me not to? I'd no longer be able to look at myself in a mirror if anything bad happened to my best friend..."

The young vigilante bit the inside of his cheek. Ned was already too involved, and it shouldn't be the way things went. Even if he could help, he'd never ask his friend since being Spider-Man was probably one of the riskiest thing after being Iron Man's nephew. 

The debate ended on the approach of Michelle; she had a thick book under her arm as she stopped lazily in front of the boys, putting great effort just to offer them a tiny smile.

"Hey, losers.'Going to the party tonight?"

"No," Peter answered firmly.

"Yes!" Ned answered happily. 

Both of them exchanged a confused gaze.

"Dude, I'm definitely not equipped with enough social credentials to go to a party, and you’re aware of that!" Peter shrilled almost frantically, feeling panic bubbling inside him. 

"And this is precisely why we should go to Liz's tonight! Think about it! We're never invited anywhere, and our lives could change in a couple of hours! This is a chance we can't turn down, Peter..." 

_It's a trap, it's a trap..._ Peter fought as he tried to avoid his friend's puppy eyes. 

"I don't like parties."

"You don't like parties or parties don't like you?" MJ hummed.

He stifled a forced laugh. "I went to enough parties, and galas, and charity events with my uncle to know for good that I hate human rallies." Peter crossed his arms in a pouting huff.

"Aw," there was a proud glint in her hazel eyes. "You're sounding more and more like me."

"C'mon, Peter, I'll need you, even MJ will be there too," Ned pleaded in a childish whine. 

"Who said that I'm going to this party?"

Ned's eyes widened and he pointed at her. 

"See?! I can't go alone. And I want to wear my new hat... I'll look ridiculous without my best friend."

Peter could feel his resistances weakening from second to second. He had the impression of refusing candy to his child — this thought made him smile lightly.

"Harley will be there!" his friend attempted, eyes narrowing at Peter, not that much convinced himself that this argument would work. 

"Double reason for me to stay home."

"Dude, you're not a princess, get down off your tower and mix with us, mortals!"

"Ned, no." 

There was no way he would go to this damn party. 

  
  


**.**

  
  


So. Blue shirt or red shirt? 

Red brought Iron-Man’s colours to his mind, so Peter ended with the blue one on his back, over a white t-shirt, whilst the red shirt was now wrinkled and tossed back into his drawer.

 _Fuck Ned_.

It was all his fault. If he hadn't let on anything out of his mouth about Spider-Man, then Flash wouldn't have said anything about the party, and Liz wouldn't have felt compelled to invite them. Peter sighed, banging his forehead against the door to his wardrobe. Instead of going to the party, he could do his daily patrol and watch over Queens. It was a duty, not an option which he reserved the right to decline when the desire took him. What a poor vigilante he was...

Grumbles came to his ears, holding his attention. Peter couldn't catch any word right, though he recognized his cousin's drawling voice. With a sigh, he eventually walked out of his room and headed to Harley's where the whines came from; the door was ajar, but he didn't barge inside — even if the blonde would sure have done. Peter knocked three times and took a quick step back when the door was harshly and widely opened. 

"What d’you want?" 

Peter stared up at his cousin for a second, too surprised by the aggressiveness to find his words. "Uh... I come in peace...?"

"Oh, fuck off." Harley made an angry sound with his tongue and slammed the door shut.

Well, that was fast.

Somehow, the Queens' vigilante was no longer surprised by his cousin's demeanour. Just as with Tony, something had broken between them. Too bad that the common factor was none other than Peter himself. _He was_ the problem that kept the system from working properly; the thorn in the foot, the stick in the wheels, the nail in the wrong place. It took time, but he accepted this painful fact.

With a discouraged sigh, he buried his hands deep in his pockets and was about to leave when the door opened again. Harley cleared his throat and gestured awkwardly in the void toward his room.

"I, um... may need your help."

Confused, Peter raised an eyebrow. 

"Come in."

His cousin sounded almost ashamed by asking for help — probably even more than he could imagine since he was asking his young cousin. Damn, the teenager was surely desperate if he turned to Peter. 

As Harley moved aside, Peter took his chance and stepped carefully into the room, fighting the feeling of being in a wrong place. _He's your fucking cousin, he won't eat you, so pull yourself together_.

The bedroom was as beautiful as in his memory. It wasn't the first time Peter entered the blonde's ‘dwelling’, but it was still impressive, especially thanks to one of the four walls which were entirely made of glass that let appear behind a marvellous and breathtaking sight of New York. In a way, it was weird to constat that, for someone like Harley, who always had uncontrollable vertigo, had his bed right next to a huge window of one of the highest spots in one of the highest towers in the town. Maybe this beautiful show had miraculous properties on Harley phobia. But what also gave this room its charm was that it was pretty spacious — enough to have a corner with a TV and a sofa, and another with a desk and a hammock chair full with white and brown pillows. However, even if Peter loved his cousin’s tastes, he wasn’t jealous. The only reason he didn’t have a bedroom like Harley’s was that he didn’t want to – Peter prefered small and cosy places rather than big ones where he could drown in his own thoughts. 

The tower was his second roof only because of school — he didn't even feel like this place was home, not since the destruction of the Avengers team. 

At May's, his bedroom was smaller. Though it was full of pictures, with posters and drawings on the walls, mechanic pieces all over his old desk, and legos scattered on the floor which always offered him a vision that warmed his heart. At May's, his room felt like home. It _was_ home. Although the one at the tower was nice, a part of Peter refused to love it since Civil War. It was an intermediary and childish way to show his uncle that he hadn't just screwed up with his friends.

In a nimble motion, Peter stepped over some dumbbells and then turned towards Harley, waiting to see how he could be useful to him. 

"I can't put on my watch..." he confessed in a breath, glaring at said watch that he was holding in his right hand.

For the past few days, Peter had quickly got that Harley's plaster cast and sling tended to give him a very bad temper. Thus his survival instinct told him to not dare to wear the thinnest smile in front of him even if he briefly wanted to. 

"Sure. Here..." 

Peter slowly reached to his cousin's right wrist and began to tie the watch around it. He frowned when he noticed that it wasn't a StarkWatch, with an automatic function which allowed it to wrap around the limb, but just a normal one with notches. 

"Where's your—"

"Broken."

"Oh." Peter reacted in a low voice, trying to not eyed at the bruises over the blonde's wrist while he was still carefully fixing the watch. 

"Dad took it after... um — a few days ago. While he was at it, he decided to improve it." He said, for once with no anger or irony in his voice. "He talked about putting a camera inside of it, that'll be able to visually record any incident if the alert signal is triggered."

Smart. 

"What if someone takes it off?" Peter asked as he eventually finished his task. 

Harley shrugged with a semblance of what could be a smile. 

"Don't give him a reason to sew the watch on our skin." 

And for a short second, they were both diving back into their childhood, laughing in choir. Then silence returned.

"Oh, and, um... thanks. By the way. I mean... for the watch." 

Although surprised, the younger nodded. Then, as neither of the two boys spoke for the next ten seconds, and feeling the atmosphere becoming heavy and embarrassing, Peter decided to leave the room. Harley grabbed his bicep as he walked past him.

Peter didn't struggle with the grip, he just looked at his cousin and hoped that his face wasn't betraying his nervosity. 

"So... you're going to Liz's?" 

Peter's lips suddenly closed in a thin line. "Against my will. Ned wants to."

"Of course it didn't come from you." Harley rolled his eyes, though it wasn't mean. "I believed you wanted to come out of your iron shell." 

He didn't really know if it was a sort of joke or not, so he chuckled awkwardly. "A red tie would be nice on you." He privileged the changing-subject strategy rather than talk about the introvert-him.

Peter waved at Harley's black shirt. His hair was neatly and meticulously brushed, and his cologne didn't escape from Peter, who had a keen sense of smell thanks to his mutation. It almost made him feel sick. Nevertheless, he didn’t express it. 

"My father wears ties. I'm not that old." If his condition had allowed him, he would surely have crossed his arms to show his contempt — typical of Harley’s attitude.

"Well, I'm not the one who speaks alone," Peter teased. 

Harley suddenly seemed hurt by the comment. Something that Peter couldn't decipher glistened in his blue eyes, then his cousin's face turned neutral. 

"D-Did I say something wro—"

"Out."

This time, the vigilante was the one who felt hurt. 

"But—"

" _Out_." 

The rejection rang hard in his head. But his heart ached the most. Peter couldn't hide shades of sadness due to his blighted hope. Just for a single minute, he had thought that maybe his relationship with his cousin wasn't shallow and hopeless. Once again, he was wrong. 

When he pushed the door closed behind him, he heard a shaky sigh, as if Harley had been holding his breath for a long time. Trying to understand would be useless; his cousin would become withdraw immediately and Peter knew that the next step was aggressiveness. So he abandoned the idea and headed for the living room where he found Pepper sitting on the couch with a phone in her hand. His aunt noticed his approach and offered him a gentle smile.

"There you are! Look at you, sweetie! You're so beautiful!"

He just wore a shirt instead of one of his old sweats, but he didn't state it to the sleek woman who was admiring fondly at him. 

"Er, yeah... I prefer to be... discreet." Peter managed to slur, referencing his clothes.

"Trying to put you in a suit is like trying to put shoes on a hobbit's feet, isn't it?" 

A large and bright smile spread over the teen's face. 

"Yeah, exactly!" He was merely happy that his aunt uses a Tolkien reference — happy because she always put effort into getting along with him, and it was _nice_. "This is just... not me."

Her smile never faded as she nodded and put her hand on his cheek, stroking it lightly with her thumb. 

"Your uncle was glad to hear that you'll go to the party. But... behave well this time, okay? For me?" 

Bewildered, he frowned. He didn't understand why she was saying this. So he tried to ask, but then Harley appeared and Pepper went for him, with the same proud smile she had for Peter. 

"Oh, you're perfect too." She reaches for his blond hair but he dodged it with a sly grin. 

"Hey! It took me twenty minutes to make this wonderful look, you're ruining my art expression..."

"Sorry." Her hands ended at both of his shoulders instead, brushing the dark shirt. "You look amazing, just like Peter.”

Harley cast a glance at him. 

"Mh."

"Are your friends coming soon?" 

He nodded, checking his phone. "Yep, in a minute."

"Great. You know the rules? Call us if there is any problem, don't smoke—"

"I know!" Harley raised his healthy hand — which was still holding his phone. "Trust me, I know! Can I go now?"

"Last time you came back drunk!" Countered a new voice after the elevator's doors. Tony stepped forward, a smile stuck to his face. "No smoking, no drug, no girls — or boys." He emphasized it with a look to his nephew, "and remember it's a school night." He frowned. "Why’s there a party on a school night? Anyways... Stay on the right track."

"Okay..." Harley sighed wearily, rolling his eyes. "Can I g—"

"Hold it! Happy goes with you." Tony said in a tone that promised no possible negotiation.

"What? No, we have already talked about it, Dad! I'm going with my friends, there will be a fucking lot of people over there, nobody will dare to attack me! No, Happy's gonna escort Peter."

Tony waved his hand briefly, sweeping away the blonde's arguments.

"Peter will go with me, I'll take him."

A spark of anxiety prompted him to express his refusal as he made a shy step forward to gain attention.

"Uh... I'll go with Happy, uncle Tony!"

He heard Pepper sigh with disappointment — something seemed to upset her through his words.

"See? Peter's the one who needs a babysitter, not me. Come on, you know that no one is going to lay into me tonight... Not in a house full of teenagers all armed with their phones, ready to film every damn minute of the party."

Tony's body was tense and his lips closed in a thin line. He was divided between the desire to give in at the request of his son or not. Eventually his shoulders slumped.

"Okay. No Happy coming along. But! I'm going to order two guards to patrol around your friend's house. Take it or leave it."

Harley hated knowing he was being watched, however, it was better than having a bodyguard stuck to his toes, although it was always causing a stir to the crowd.

"Deal..." The blonde grunted.

Peter watched silently as his cousin walked for the elevator, taking his parents' silence for permission to leave the tower.

"Hey, pal!" Tony called out. 

"Uh?" 

Harley half turned towards his father, his lips slightly parted to express his rising frustration, and his blue eyes looking quizzically. Then he blinked several times when a sudden flash lit his face.

"Gotcha!" The man exclaimed while he looked down at the screen of his phone. "I'll definitely print this one in the hugest format and hang it up somewhere in the Tower's hall."

Harley's mouth dropped while Pepper chuckled with amusement as she came closer to her husband to have a better look on the new picture. 

"Aw, you look like a pouting baby..."

The said pouting baby grumbled something inaudible and eventually disappeared into the elevator. Peter remained neutral though, still taken aback by the previous talk he had had with his cousin. He tried, tried, and tried to resolve the mystery, though he never got an answer. Then his uncle voice suddenly broke his thoughts.

"You ready, champ?"

The thought of getting stuck with Tony for more than five minutes in a car suddenly popped in his head and almost made him dizzy. So, naturally, he stammered parries.

"Uh, er... Y-yes... um... Happy's already here...?" Peter swallowed dryly. 

"I'll drop you off." His uncle picked out the keys from his pant's pocket.

The teenager stiffened as could almost feel a rope tightening around his neck.

"No! It's fine, I don't want to bother you!"

"Nonsense, Pepper wants me out of my workshop anyways."

In desperation, Peter opened his mouth to counter his uncle one last time. But he changed his mind at the last second, realizing that saying ‘I prefer it to be Happy’ would be horribly cruel to the man. In addition, he noticed his aunt out of the corner of his eye who made subtle movements of the head to encourage him to accept. It was already too late to back out. 

Finally he nodded, yielding, "Okay... I'm ready then..."

If the man noticed his discomfort, then he didn’t say anything — and Peter was grateful about this because he hoped he could spend the next few minutes without exchanging a single word with his uncle. There was still and always that awkward atmosphere hovering around Tony and Peter when they were together, like a curse they could not get rid of, no matter how much they tried to break the cycle of shame. He bit the inside of his cheek while Pepper gave a happy and quick kiss to his uncle, then he followed Tony begrudgingly to the elevator when F.R.I.D.A.Y. called it back; they both entered into the square box. The vigilante held his breath as the doors closed together. 

"Garage, honey," Tony ordered to the A.I.

" _Got it, boss!_ " 

"And send a message to Happy, tell him he can sleep tonight."

" _Already did, boss!_ " the female voice boasted. 

"Clever girl."

" _Should I send a message to Mr. Austin and Mr. Kent too?_ "

Peter recognized the names of the agents as ones that Tony most often call for a shadow or protection mission. 

The Avenger hummed with approbation, "Yes — the usual."

The usual? What was the usual, what was precisely those agents's orders? And why Tony didn't sum it up loud? Peter shook his head — no need to stress himself more that he already was. Yet, it was now running through his mind. 

The trip in the elevator was long. Very long. Terribly long, to tell the truth. Although it was equipped with unbeatable and foolproof technology that ensured safety, comfort, and speed, ninety-three floors were long when it came to spending this endless minute with someone whose Peter could hear every detail of the breath, as well as the heartbeat. They were both standing, side by side, facing the doors, hands behind their backs, silent, and Peter was more grateful than ever that they did not have a mirror on the walls. And while Peter twisted his fingers to think of something else, Tony remained perfectly upright and immobile, his chin high. However, his heart was beating fast — faster than the teenager's, Peter noticed. 

When the doors finally reopened, the boy felt like he had been rescued from the weight of tons of rubble, allowing him to breathe again.

There were two kinds of garages within the Avengers Tower; one for staff and visitors, chic and standard, and another that belonged to Mr. Stark. And although Peter didn't share as much love and passion as his cousin and uncle's for cars, he had to admit that a little part of him was always in awe in front of such a collection.

Each car was parked diagonally, gleaming from the wheels to the roof with no trace of neglect or imperfection. There were dozens of them, listed in chronological order of their purchase. Peter knew Tony loved each of his cars, even if he hadn't driven some of them for years. They were memories of his youth. One of the oldest models was a white and silver GM LeSabre - 1951; Tony had confessed to him one day, when Peter had been playing in the garage, watching his uncle work on a more modern improvement of the said car, that he had never driven it because it was Howard's. It had never been said, and yet Peter had always felt that Tony had some kind of respect for this car. It was surely the one he would choose if he had to keep only one of all those in his fascinating collection.

As they both walked toward the familiar black A7 Audi — the car most used when it came to making simple trips around New York, also the one Happy (and sometimes Harley) used — Tony seemed to notice his scrutiny on the Telsa Roadster.

"When you were kid, you once drew on this one," the man mused, coming to a halt. "You were five. Maybe six."

For unknown reasons, Peter blushed. "Uh... sorry..."

Before he could slap himself for telling such absurdity, Tony pursued, "J.A.R.V.I.S. was praising your work, I was almost crying, and you were laughing at my face when I realized that your drawings weren't coming off." The corners of the Avenger's mouth raised up. "Pepper saved the day by sacrificing alcohol, so I almost cried twice..."

He did not remember that. Peter did not have many memories of him and his uncle. Or maybe he didn't want to remember...

Tony turned toward him and Peter refrained from apologizing again. But the relaxed and amused features of his uncle made him understand that the man wasn't rebuking him. Instead, he seemed to be waiting for an answer. Oh. Oh! This word was surely describing his face well since he had his mouth open without any sound coming out from it and his eyebrows slightly frowned in confusion. What was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to speak? Tony broke first the awkward silence.

"Do you want to get in this one?" 

Peter fidgety shifted, feeling uncomfortable again for some reason. Then he remembered that he didn't want to be in this crazy car when it would park in front of Liz's house. 

"Um, n-no... the Audi’s fine, I-..."

"Oh, come on, you'll love it!"

"N-Next time, maybe?" The boy mumbled, eyes shooting the white floor. 

He heard a sigh coming from his uncle, then a raspy noise as if he was scratching his beard, "Fine." A small pause, followed by a laugh attempt, "Your cousin would never have turned down such an opportunity, for sure." 

His face abruptly went red with offense. 

"I'm not Harley," Peter bitterly countered as he headed for the Audi, his fists clenched.

Footstep sounds came after him, though he didn't slow down. "Hey, I didn't mean to—"

"This is why I would have preferred it to be Happy!"

His voice echoed on the garage's walls. It took the boy only a second before he felt the weight of regret hanging over his guts. Peter had said those words to hurt his uncle; Tony didn't. Anger disappeared as fast as it came, and now he could taste the guilt — it wasn't pleasant or satisfying. He wished he could have taken his words back. 

Again, he opened his mouth, hoping to apologize for being so rude to his uncle, but the man preempted him.

"Get in. You don't want to be late, don't you?"

 _It was a party_ , he briefly wanted to answer. _Not an appointment._ However, for the next twenty minutes, he desperately kept a low profile while Tony was driving. 

If the elevator had been uncomfortable and tensed, it was only a picnic compared to the drive. Peter was repeatedly tempted to open his door and throw himself on the road to escape the toxic tension between them. He didn't even dare to move to put on some music — he didn't want either to even breathe too loudly, by fear of being noticed. It was long. 

Peter had never felt as happy to arrive at a party as that night. Tony stopped the car in front of the house, and they both turned their heads in the same direction to watch the teens teeming around Liz's big, luminous and luxurious home. Nothing equivalent to the tower, of course, but not unpleasant to look at.

Anyways, it was time to scoot off of the car now. He downed his head, playing absentmindedly with his fingers. 

"So, uh... T-thanks for the ride. Um..."

He darts a shy look to his uncle, who was silently observing him. His courage faded.

"I-I gotta go, Ned is p-probably already he-here..." The more the nervosity raised along his spine, the more he stuttered — it was a vicious circle.

Since his uncle remained quiet he began to reach for the handle when a soft voice stopped him, "I can trust you, this time?"

Peter started, confused. It was only the music playing from the house which finally rang a bell inside of his curly head. Realisation struck him and he blushed; Tony was talking about the lie he had told them, when he had been in a supposed party and never had given any sign of life for the whole night. 

Now Pepper's previous words were making sense. 

"Yeah, sure... it was a... a phase... I got over it..."

Tony nodded slowly, almost carefully — his brown eyes were still on his nephew. "Okay, I trust you. It's just... Harley does those kinds of things all the time, but you? We were surprised, to say the least. A phase is fine. I had mine, y'know... I just... I..."

The vigilante heard him swallow loudly, and there they were, stuck with their poor social competence. Peter wanted to laugh, but he sighed instead. 

"I won't do it again, uncle. I'm sorry. It was a mistake," he swore solemnly, his voice strangely monotonic. 

"You alright, kiddo? You sound like you're reciting Shakespeare..." Tony scoffed.

And Peter slightly stiffened to the word 'reciting', since it was in a way exactly what he was doing. He was saying out loud the lie he had built, sticking to every word he had assembled together. Nevertheless, he knew that he must always be cautious and clever if he wanted to keep the truth, thus spitting out this in such a way his lie could make it look a bit too thoughtful, to be honest. 

"It's f-fine, I'm fine. It's just the party... T-there are a lot of people there..." The boy waved outside with his thumb. 

"Mmh." Tony agreed with a hum, "Never to be your thing, huh?" 

It was barely there, but a small smile settled on Peter's young face. The atmosphere wasn't as tense as a few minutes ago, now it was just... casually awkward. 

Pointing the finger at a scapegoat when you feel bad and guilty was an easy and awful way to sleep better at night when you are alone with your own thoughts. Peter knew that — he was pretty familiar with the blaming-someone-else process. A relationship couldn't work only one way. And a relationship also couldn't work when there was no synchronisation; that was what was always happening to them. When Peter took a step forward, Tony took a step back. When Tony took a step forward, Peter took a step back. It was clumsy and discouraging to witness. Because of this, the teenager knew it was unfair to blame his uncle at the second where things were not right, like he wanted them to be.

"Nope," Peter eventually said, popping the 'p'. 

"You should go. I think I just saw Ned enter into the house."

"Okay, um..." He briefly searched for some words to say, "uh, b-bye!"

Tony smiled, "Bye, kid."

 _Saysomethingsaysomethingsaysomethingsaysomething_ …

Peter wavered a glance to his uncle but he wasn't looking at him. However, it didn't take away this feeling that was haunting him, the one which makes you feel guilty if you don't listen it. Peter tried one last time to ignore this odd feeling, his hand on the handle, when his mind gave him a crueller thought than he could ever have believed.

What if it was the last time he saw Tony? What if his last memory of him would be that rubbish talk where they barely looked into each other's eyes?

His heart hammered inside his chest. He couldn't say it was silly.

He couldn't deny this thought.

His life had always been torn suddenly and brutally, without the slightest warning. Everything could fall apart in the blink of an eye. It always happens this way, so why should he ignore and laugh at this fear that was gnawing at him?

With a shaking breath he turned one last time toward the man. "Uncle?"

"Hm?" He looked up, surprise glimmering into his eyes. 

Peter then moved forward and hugged his uncle, both of his arms wrapping around the man's torso and his cheek leaning on his warm chest. 

"Oh..." he heard above him after a short moment, "This is nice," Tony mumbled once the confusion faded. 

His strong arms hugged his nephew back, and Peter let out a trembling sigh, relieved. It wasn't awkward. It was... good. So good. He felt safe and good. When a kiss was pressed against his curls, the boy closed his eyes, savouring the precious and rare embrace. Maybe it lasted ten or twenty seconds — or one minute? Peter didn't care, he was just disappointed when it ended, though he never showed it. 

"Okay, I'm ready now! See ya later!" Peter exclaimed before Tony could have said anything.

And this time he got out of the car, feeling light and happy. A huge smile was on his lips as he headed for the party, not scared anymore. 

  
  


**.**

  
  


"Who said that I'd not go to the party?" Michelle asked as she was lazily spreading something on a piece of bread. 

"Uh, you?" Ned finally let out, arms crossed on his chest. 

"So you're telling me that I'm a liar?"

MJ said nothing else — she just stared at Ned and Peter, the bread still on her hand and a knife on the other. Both of the boys stiffened. 

"No! I just thought—" 

"Believing isn't knowing."

Although Peter had decided to not put his two cents into the conversation, he couldn't help but smile when he understood that she was going to be part of the trio tonight. Who knows? Maybe the party was going to be less boring this way.

It only took Flash a minute after Peter crossed the door to start publicly humiliating him. It was one thing to ignore his insufferable pretentious voice, but to ignore dozens of people who were singing 'Penis Parker' was another thing. Changing rooms and plugging his ears was useless, the teenager had become in the blink of an eye the laughingstock of the night. 

Parker's luck. 

He was not really shocked to see Harley participating in his public humiliation; the blond was surrounded by his usual dumb friends, and he laughed loudly, swimming in his natural environment as the spoiled child he was. Peter ignored him. On the other hand, it was impossible to ignore Michelle, who also shouted in unison, ‘Penis Parker’.

"MJ?!" He gasped with an outraged tone.

She frowned, almost pouting by the interruption, "What? I was having fun. Besides, I was hurting no one."

Peter waved towards himself.

"Yeah, that's what I said." MJ chuckled. "No one."

Ned elbowed her on the ribs with a snigger, because, of course, it was hilarious to put him down. His mouth felt dry with a bitter quip he deeply wanted to spit at everyone. But he just smiled — MJ saw his smile and the next second she was frowning with concern and something else that the teen couldn't decipher, maybe guilt or discomfort. 

"Shit Peter, I didn't mean it that way..." 

"It's alright," he firmly inserted, "I'm a loser after all, right?"

Ned in turn tried to make it up to him, but he was no longer listening anymore to both of his friends. He needed a drink. Or some fresh air. Was he making fuss about it? Peter sighed — it didn't make much difference, anyways.

His steps naturally took him outside, where he could breathe without hearing silly giggles coming from the party.

The cool night air soothed his thoughts. It was less sensational than when he was on top of a skyscraper, but he still preferred loneliness rather than crowds. Why had he agreed to come? Peter should have known it never would have worked. He might be patrolling instead, damn. Do the one thing that made life meaningful.

A sudden presence seemed to appear besides him from nowhere, almost making the boy and his sadly-usual downhearted thoughts jump back. Peter eventually recognized Mr. Austin, one of the two agents Tony hired for Harley. 

"Everything's fine, Mr. Parker?"

He blinked a few times, taken aback, before quickly licking his dry lips. "Y-Yeah, uh, I'm fine. Yeah... Um, What-what do you want?"

"Do you want to go home, Mr. Parker?"

"Uh..." _Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,_ "... no."

"Then head back to the party, you aren't allowed to be alone outside. If you want to leave, let Mr. Stark know about it." The agent stated with a neutral expression.

The boy narrowed his eyes with disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"Yes." 

"It was a rhetorical question, you creepy robot."

Fair or not for the agent who was only applying for orders, Peter knew the man wouldn't complain about it. 

He wheeled around nevertheless, stumping back for the house with his hands in his pockets. If he couldn't get fresh air, then he still could get something for his dry mouth. Hopefully. 

One of the few advantages of being _him_ was that no one spoke to him. In other words, apart from occasional public humiliations, he was invisible and non-existent, which was non-negligible guaranteed tranquillity; no need to worry about others, to talk to anyone and no need either to maintain a good public image of himself. Who cared if he spent the night in the kitchen, drinking apple juice? The goal was to wait and make Tony and Pepper believe that he had socialized with real humans other than Ned and Michelle. Speaking of them...

"Here you are, loser. Whoa, existential crisis? 'Should I have brought my notebook?"

"I want to go home..." Peter whined.

Ned stepped beside him, wrapping his arm around his shoulders as he led him to the living room which was full of life. "Listen to your good old friend, dude: having fun tonight won't kill you. Plus, look at you! Look at me — at my hat! We're two good-looking guys, the perfect duo of all the time!"

Michelle was chewing something — maybe cake — looking from Ned to Peter with an annoyed gaze. 

"What happened to Peter who asked nothing more than going to a party with true people?"

As they fought their way through the young crowd, sometimes avoiding the blows of the shoulders of some teenager who refused to shift a single inch to let them pass, Peter puzzled over the best answer to give his friend, without breaking his enthusiasm. Ned knew about Spider-Man, yet that didn't really explain his undesirable character change and Peter was aware he looked more like a grumpy old man than a teenager, but he felt like he couldn't do anything about it.

Anger suddenly emerged inside him. He could no longer stand to feel compressed physically against others, and he hated this deafening music as well as these blinding lights.

Thus, the icing on the cake was to see Harley and Liz at the other end of the living-room, flirting with one another. Peter couldn't hear because of all the other noises around him that made him have an awful headache. However, he couldn't miss the way she laughed shyly, wrapping a lock of hair around her finger while his cousin seemed to be telling her something extraordinary at a dangerously close distance. Peter tried to ignore the pick of disappointment that twisted his stomach.

"This Peter is gone, Ned." He eventually hissed between his teeth. "He grew up, and maybe you should take an example from him."

Ned put away his arm from his shoulders, frowning slightly at him. Too late to look sorry, now. So Peter kept his chin high, even if it made him look like an asshole instead. 

"So dark," MJ said nonchalantly. "So... You're a kind of pokemon? You have grown up from Loser to Moron? Or maybe Douchebag? Eh... never have thought that it would suit you..."

"MJ!" Ned exclaimed, bafflement on his face.

Peter could hear his own heart hammering his chest with guilt. He tried to remain detached, he wanted to, but her words were fair. She said the right thing to say at someone who takes his anger out on his friends. What was wrong with him? 

He took a deep breath and hoped it would cool his nerves, but then a tingle spread along his spine — with an agile move the teen stepped aside and wheeled around. Three guys were staring at him, agape. 

Peter just dodged a kick. 

"Hell, man, you have eyes on your back?!"

"L-Leave m-me alo-alone!" 

He almost rolled his eyes when his stutter came back without any warning. For now, no one else seemed to notice the altercation, to Peter's relief. That was a good start. 

"I think Penis Parker has something else on his back." Jibed one of the teens in a provoking posture. 

At first, Peter didn't understand what the jerk meant. When he felt something being tugged off his back, he turned and saw Michelle holding a paper which had a piece of scotch tape on the top. 

MJ sighed, "'Kick me', seriously? This is the silliest and oldest gag in the world. Where did you stop in the Evolution process, exactly?"

"Shut up, you stuck-up bitch!" 

Peter's fingers tightened around his glass. Too bad he had already drunk all the juice inside of it a few minutes earlier, it would have been a pleasure to throw it at his face. He couldn't bear to see his friends insulted.

Familiar itching warmed the palm of his hand as the realization hit him: the glass was stuck between his fingers.

His legs were suddenly limp and weak which forced him to remain frozen in place, no matter how much he wanted to leave as far as possible from this place. Now a few faces were turned towards them.

"I advise you to apologize, now, or else Pete will kick all your teeth in! Won’t you, dude?" Ned proudly said, winking at him. 

_Oh, no._

Peter swallowed back bile when he got all the attention in a flash. 

The three guys — and others heads around them — burst into laughter. He hoped with all his being that it was going to end with simple mockeries and that nobody was really going to challenge him. He didn't want to come home with a black eye. Not when he would have to maintain that for several days to be humanly credible. 

Peter flinched slightly when someone jabbed his shoulder painfully. 

"So, what are you gonna do, half-pint?" 

Ned stared at him with both hope and guilt, though Peter couldn’t afford him a show right now. He ducked his head. "N-Nothing..."

He didn't care about his image, he wasn't supposed to use his strength or get noticed as Peter Parker. So the vigilante ignored his burning cheeks with humiliation and took all the insults without any retort. He could do that.

"Aw, look at you, you coward!"

"Hey, you gonna cry? Let me film this!"

"C'mon, cry for us, moron!" grunted one as he shoved Peter.

"We shouldn't annoy a poor orphan..." Another of them chuckled. 

"Punch them!" Ned encouraged, trying nevertheless to interpose himself between his friend and one of the nearest teenagers who was definitely seeking violence.

Once he would have his face rearranged, he should have a word with Ned about Spider-Man, Peter thought, still staring silently at his shoes. Tension was slowly increasing and it didn't help him to control his powers — if anything, it only triggered his internal panic. 

He hated being the centre of attention. He hated this. He hated this lame party. He hated himself. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa... What's going on?" asked a new voice, half-laughing and half-grumbling.

Peter didn't have to take his eyes off the ground to recognize the newcomer.

Flash wrapped his arm around the shoulders of the trio's most aggressive boy. The said boy seemed to reluctantly calm down, and the disappointment at not being able to thump Peter could be clearly seen on his face. For all that, he did not get flustered and sniffed with disdain, his gaze still on Peter.

"Parker's showing off. We're teaching him what it is to piss us off, that's it. Right, Penis?"

"Train your dogs, Thompson," Michelle said, her casual attitude back. 

Ned returned to his side as Peter dared to check briefly around him; the party was still living and loud like nothing ever happened. But his fingers were still stuck to the glass, so he didn't move from an inch, afraid that the slightest gesture could betray his secret. It would be the worst place for this.

Flash laughed, again, and Peter knitted his eyebrows when his nose caught alcohol perfume. Where the hell did he find alcohol? There was _supposed_ to be none at the party. Well, that was only hypothetical. "C'mooon... Liz would be in trouble if anyone ends up with a nose gushing blood." 

"Maybe we should go, dude..." Ned admitted near to his ear, even though Flash noticed the trio which was walking away. 

"Hey! Didn't you want to go to a real party? You should stay, parties are always funnier after midnight, don't listen to Cinderella..." 

He was drunk.

"Okay, here..." His childhood bully took a flask out of his jacket's pocket, then held it out to his friend. "Everything's fine?"

The guy only snorted before accepting the flask that was probably full of alcohol. 

"Everything's right." He confirmed.

And then they were gone, except Flash. Peter tilted his head, staring quizzically at the boy. What just happened was kind of hard to believe, if he had seen all this right. Did Flash come to their — _his_ — rescue? He was surprised that the bully didn't take his chance to kick him from behind since it was exactly his thing. 

"It's empty?" Flash eventually asked, waving at Peter's glass. 

"Uh...? Hum, yeah. I mean, no."

Flash stepped forwards and tried to get the glass from Peter's hand. The vigilante stiffened, aware it was still stuck at his fingers because of his dumb powers, and then panic rise again. "N-No, it's fine...! I'm no thirsty anymore..."

"Come on, Parker, don't play the precious. Who doesn’t need an apple juice refill?"

And like that, he headed for the kitchen without looking back, trusting Peter to follow him. And like that, Peter was tempted to just do this. He turned towards his two friends who appeared as stunned as he was. 

"I, uh... I’ll come back." He threw an angry look at Ned. "And you... We'll talk about it later."

His tone was bitter but he didn't care — Spider-Man wasn't a party trick, Ned shouldn't act differently from the usual days. He mimed a 'sorry' with his lips as the Queens' vigilante dragged himself into the kitchen. The room was an open one, so it wasn't intimate or cut off from anyone’s eyes, and this fact reassured him, even if he doubted that Flash would stab him. Peter stayed vigilant, though. 

"Here’s the juice!" Flash held upwards a bottle with an amazing expression. 

Being drunk was a euphemism. 

"Gimme that..." The boy motioned to his glass and Peter swore his body would melt in a puddle at any second.

He remained petrified as Flash reached for the glass, unable to move or to think of something coherent. _Don't stick, don't stick, don’t..._

Peter almost cried when his hand was free; he clenched again and again his fist, happy to have his fingers control back. It only caused Flash to look at him like he was crazy, but Peter was too relieved to care about this, plus, hopefully, the alcohol would do its memory job by the next morning. 

Peter waited patiently as Flash filled the glass with the coveted apple juice. There was a huge gap between this boy and the one of the prior morning. Peter thought it could be misplaced from him, but maybe it was an opportunity to grill Flash about Spider-Man. If he knew him, ever talked to him, what was his opinion... Hesitation didn't last long, contrary to curiosity. Thus, he cleared his throat and walked innocently besides Flash. 

"Sooo..."

To Hell with subtlety, everyone spoke about the vigilante, anyways. 

"You were pretty defensive about Spider-Man... you are a... a fan?"

Flash shook his head with an entertained laugh, "Nope. I'm his biggest fan!" 

Was it too dishonest to take advantage of his drunk state to get his answers? He thought about it for a short instant, before sustaining his momentum. After all, it was only for a good purpose. Nothing personal.

"Yeah, that was it, I guess..."

"This guy is..." Flash looked up — at nothing else than a perfectly white ceiling — with a bright expression. "Amazing."

So far, nothing really surprising for someone who had a huge Spider-Man poster just above his bed. Peter still felt a little uncomfortable with the idea but tried to ignore it.

"You look good," Flash observed while he gave him back his glass now full. 

Peter hummed pensively. "Mmh, thanks...". 

There was a silence before realisation struck him. "W-wait, uh, what?" 

His cheeks were already red when he tried to act normal, but Flash didn't seem to care — or notice. Instead, he leaned against the kitchen island, still with a happy smile. His gaze wasn't mean or scornful. 

"I like when you wear shirts instead of those sweaters," the boy maundered, then he lifted a finger. "Buuut, Spider-Man is really, reallyyyy cool. More than you." 

"Yeah... what a surprise..." 

Peter tried to remain neutral faced with this comparison. He didn't really know if he should be offended or flattered. The mix was not pleasant, it was something he was certain of because Spider-Man wasn't Penis Parker. They were two different people. He knew he shouldn't let this affect him, yet a small part of him couldn't help but pay attention to all those little details.

"Don't you think Spider-Man is... is a bad person?" Peter carefully asked, darting a quick look at the other boy who seemed almost offended. 

"A bad person?! What the hell?!" He threw his arms up, making Peter shift back. "Hitler is a bad person! Um, was... Well, you know what I mean! Don't start with me, Parker!"

"Okay, okay! Didn't mean to... hurt your feelings." He raised an eyebrow, still waiting for more explanations. 

"It's easy to judge, but who would do the dirty job instead of Spider-Man, huh? The Avengers? What a fucking joke..."

The dirty job. Peter knew a lot about it. No one wanted to do it, of course — too immoral, or unpleasant. Who wanted to help an old man in distress? Who wanted to run after a wallet robber? Who wanted to help those people? Whilst others closed their eyes, Spider-Man was there to acknowledge them. It was the only thing that filled his chest with pride. His thing. His secret.

The teen pushed his thoughts away when he saw Flash staring intently at him. He opened his mouth to break the awkward silence or made the boy react, though Flash spoke first. 

"What about you? What do you think about Spider-Man? You're always... criticising him."

 _Ironic_ , huh. Sometimes he wondered if he acted like he truly hated the vigilante to make his cover credible, or if it was a real aversion for his alter-ego. Peter had a nasty habit of screwing up everything he undertook — again, it was the famous Parker's luck who wanted it. He wouldn't be surprised if Spider-Man went astray. Nothing was ever completely white or black, was it?

He stood straight before his childhood bully, chin up, and stated with empty eyes, "Spider-Man is dangerous and a hypocrite."


	9. Infiltration on The Ferry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are wondering, the episode with the Washington Monument already happened. Though, since Peter never met the Shocker at the bridge with Aaron Davis, he never collected the Chitauri energy core. It explains why Peter didn’t need to go with the decathlon team as he never confronted – yet - Adrian Toomes. 
> 
> However, the Vulture will appear, it’s a sure thing ;) 

"Give me the 1/4 inches socket wrench," Tony mumbled thoughtfully, his hand held out open towards Peter.

The teen quickly scanned the table next to the workbench, where a wide range of tools was arranged; without hesitation he picked up the asked object and gave it to his uncle who still had his hand lifted upwards. 

"Here."

Tony didn't even check which wrench Peter had given him — his nephew knew every tool in this lab as well as he did, it was a proven fact — so he just used it to continue his modifications into the forearm of the Mark 47 suit. It was the right worktool. Peter kept watching him in curious silence for a few minutes before being entertained by his own thoughts — again.

If Tony and Peter were both together, breathing the same air in the tower's private lab, it started out as a coincidence. Peter had originally planned to alter and modify details on his web-shooters in hopes of improving his trashy equipment, though, when he stepped into the room, he saw that his uncle was already there. His first reflex was to make a U-turn and leave without a word, but Tony called out and managed to convince him to give him a hand. Apparently, Dum-E had acted up again, hence why the robot was planted in a corner, head low like a punished schoolboy.

Then the hours just passed like the good old days. And there they were. 

"Okay, put on the gloves and go get me the PTFE we melted earlier." Tony glanced at the boy through his protection glasses. " _And!_ don't burn yourself, your aunts won't love me so much if you’re turned into french-fries." 

Peter stifled a chuckle as he reached for the two black thermal gloves and put them both meticulously. "Sure. And, y'know, I don't really mind, I'm kinda used to being the peon..." He took his most heartbreaking voice, faking shaking lips. 

"Aw. I can almost hear the violin."

"You're heartless," Peter stated, wrapping the velcros around his wrists.

"Hurry up, before it cools down." 

The Avenger rolled his eyes, wheeling back at his work, and his nephew didn't hesitate to stick out his tongue. 

But as good as this session in the lab was, Peter had to keep in mind his second objective: get answers regarding the attack that ravaged Mr. Delmar's grocery store, two days after the incident with Harley.

Part of him blamed himself for not being there that night to protect the nice old man and his shop.

Peter used to buy sandwiches there after school; it was a little ritual that he enjoyed doing before starting a new patrol as a Spider-Man. So when he had seen the state of the store a few days ago, Peter had felt deeply revolted. All because Mr. Delmar had been an unwanted witness in the wrong place at the wrong time. Obviously, the burglars at the bank across the street had been only slightly amused by the man's call to the police, that's why they came back for revenge.

And again, it was those strange weapons. 

The grocery was wrecked and burned; Mr. Delmar was in a coma, and his cat was dead. 

Although Peter was not directly affected by this tragedy, he was none the less upset. Maybe in a parallel universe, things could have happened otherwise.

Either way, the only thing to do was accept and move on.

He knew this process.

Peter came back to his uncle, firmly and carefully holding the two handles of the small furnace made of galvanized steel — hot smoke escaped from the firebox.

"Don't inhale that," Tony warned.

"I know."

Not lethally toxic, but still toxic. However, in science, it was customary to take risks, even more among the Starks. Teflon coating was a good thing for Iron Man's suit, it could be used as a sealant for the joints in addition to being radiation proof. Rather well thought out and logical to put flexible and thermally resistant protections in here, knowing that most of the firepower — without counting the repulsors — of Iron Man were in the arms. No detail could be left out, and Peter greedily kept every detail in memory. It might be useful for him to be aware of those kinds of things to improve himself, or to be able and ready to face his uncle in a better way than he had done last time.

"Have you heard anything new about the guys who did this to Mr. Delmar?"

All things considered, it would probably be wise to reconsider the way in which things were steered. At least, he had the merit of getting straight to the point rather than beating around the bush. Peter needed a lead. A name, _anything._

"Nothing more than what I said in yesterday’s interview," his uncle answered after a time of silence.

"Which is basically nothing," Peter pointed out.

He felt Tony tense slightly. "The situation is under control, Peter."

That's what he had said after the incident with Harley. However, nothing had changed. Peter decided not to use this argument against his uncle though, knowing how dangerous and slippery this slope was.

"And you shouldn't worry about this shit, kid. You can't change it anyway," the man added while he soldered wires inside the forearm of the armor.

Peter crossed his arms as he sat on his wheeled stool in front of Tony.

"I know, it's just... Harley, and now Mr. Delmar..." He sighed. "I know you want to keep us away from this, but... it still comes to us in one way or another. I know I can't change things, but it would reassure me if I wouldn't let myself be in the dark over this matter."

For the next minute, the only sounds that echoed in the lab were those of Tony's electric drill and the regular creaking of chairs. The teenager could not yet say whether his words had impacted his uncle or not, so he remained quiet and continued to observe the work being done. When the Avenger suddenly straightened up, lifting his safety visor.

"You don't have to worry about a thing, kid. We have the situation under control."

Despite his effort to remain neutral, his shoulders sagged nonetheless under disappointment.

"But if you hear of a certain Aaron Davis, stay away from this clown, okay? No evidence established yet about him, but he has been seen at several crime scenes, including the grocery store."

 _Aaron Davis. Aaron Davis_... The vigilante repeated and remembered in his head until he engraved it securely in his brain. Tony noticed his focused gaze, and he clicked his tongue against his palate. "Stay out of this Pete, okay? A kid with a cast is enough. As for me, the hero's complex sticks pretty well to the skin, so thank you for leaving me this privilege. Capiche? So no reckless act until I'm dead and buried, otherwise I'll kill you and bury you."

"Pepper and May won't love you if you do this to me."

The man proudly sniffed as he straightened his chin. "I'll make the ‘beaten puppy eyes’, then."

Peter chuckled.

"It never worked," the teenager stated before laughing frankly, picturing his uncle trying the sad eyes method with Pepper.

 _Aaron Davis_ , he mentally repeated himself over and over again.

  
  


**.**

  
  


Aaron Davis.

Hidden behind a foundation pillar of a supermarket parking lot, Peter was waiting patiently, his eyes fixed on a gray car, and his ears on the lookout for the slightest sound. Staying in the shadows was also part of the job. At first glance annoying, Peter found on the contrary this phase useful, considering the opportunity to be able to think before taking action, although a whole plan had already been built in his head long before arriving here.

The teenager used this inactivity time to muse about the suspect he was hunting down.

With F.R.I.D.A.Y.'s help, tracking down Davis' phone was probably the easiest part of the mission. Now, he had to make him spill everything he knew — every detail. This man had to be aware of something, and Peter was not going to sit idly, twiddling his thumbs, just because there wasn't an arrest warrant yet or concrete evidence against him. Spider-Man didn't need that. Besides, his instinct told him that he was on the right track.

His lenses narrowed when he recognized Aaron Davis heading for his car; quietly, he stepped away from the pillar and slowly approached his target while he was tidying up his shopping bags in the back of the car, oblivious to the vigilante's presence. No one was around to witness the scene — just as he wanted it to be. The slam sound of the trunk door closing was his signal. His gaze met the man from whom he was standing less than a meter away.

"What the—"

Before he could even jump back or express his surprise, Peter grabbed Davis' hair and smashed his face against the trunk. _Crack_.

"DAMN!"

Unmoved by the cry of pain mixed with stupefaction, Peter shot a web over the man's left hand to keep him stuck to the car before simply leaning against the back door on the right side, arms and legs crossed while he silently stared at Davis which was moaning in pain. He seemed divided between reacting to Spider-Man and remaining focused on his nose dripping with blood.

"Seriously?!" He finally spat out, outraged. "What was that for?!"

Mmh. Torture was definitely not his cup of tea, and he couldn't imagine breaking his fingers one by one anyway. Unexpectedly, he was getting pretty good vibes from this dude. Besides, he had promised himself to change. Be more... kind. "Oh, yeah! Um, here." Peter took out of his pocket a tissue which he handed to Davis, obtaining a dazed and lost stare.

"W-What? Wait, are you nu— no, forget it. Damn, dude, that was useless, truly!"

He snatched the tissue from his hands and immediately pressed it against his nose to calm down the impressive bleeding, hissing from the pain. However, his attention was now on his assailant, suspicious and skeptical.

"You can't just hit someone and help them heal next. My nose shares this point of view, y'know? Well, what remains of it." He grunted with a muffled voice.

"I'm trying to be nice. Nicer." Peter shrugged.

"Eh, yeah yeah, 'was fucking obvious, my bad."

Peter smiled under his mask, giving the man a minute to recover from his emotions — to pass the time, he had fun by rolling a small stone with his foot when he felt Davis' gaze at the back of his skull.

"So, what do you want, girl?"

His face turned fiercely red as Peter jumped away from the car to face the man. "I'm not a girl, I'm a boy! I mean—" he saw the guy smile "—I'm a man!"

"I know what a girl sounds like," Aaron insisted while taking a look at his webbed hand. 

"Oh, shut up! I need answers, now!" Peter stamped to show his frustration as a warning but the man kept chuckling, as if having red blood teeth and lips was nothing unusual. Eventually Peter's shoulders slouched down and he let out an exasperated sigh, already feeling tired of this. 

"You've never done this before, huh?" He leaned down, laying his elbow on the car and his chin on the palm of his hand.

"Do what?" Peter grunted, losing his patience. 

"Look, if you want answers, you need first to ask about something. It is how interrogations work." 

Oh. _Oh!_

If Peter didn't have dignity left, maybe he would have been tempted to dig a hole until he disappeared from the face of the Earth. Unfortunately, he could only face his shame. Shame that was currently exacerbating as he heard Davis' sniggers.

"I-It was to get your, um, your attention!" the teenager stammered, making great gestures with his arms. "Now listen, you douchebag, and I advise you not to play the innocent: who sells those weapons?"

The atmosphere suddenly turned heavier as the man stiffened. Apparently, it was not something he could joke about.

And it was not his project, not after his own past with this technology.

"I don't have any. Neither on me, nor elsewhere. And you can whistle for getting any information from me; I don't want a new little monster to wander around Queens with these toys."

At first, surprised by the courage and the cheek of the man he had at his mercy, Peter decided not to raise objections about the insult. For now, he had two certainties: this guy knew something about the sale of these weapons, and he did not support this traffic. Whatever the reasons, Peter intended to play on this sensitive nerve.

"I don't want those things with me. It's because of this fucking technology that Mr. Delmar's store was destroyed."

A flash of guilt passed through Davis' eyes. "Mmh... Not enough bread in his sandwiches, but he's a nice guy." Peter refrained himself from making any accusations, and continued to listen to him. "Look, I don't know who those people are or who their leader is apart from the fact that he's disguised as a ferrous demon."

Ferrous demon? The image of Iron Man appeared inside of his head, and he didn't know if he should laugh or blame himself for thinking so.

"I don't know, trust me. But... I know where they're going to deal."

The flame of hope rekindled in his chest. Davis dragged on the suspense for a few seconds, enjoying the anxiety of Spider-Man before revealing the precious information.

"I worked for Mac Gargan. A monster you don't want to meet, be sure, but I know he has a deal on the Staten Island Ferry. Today."

Finally, _finally_ , a real track with which he had a real chance to overcome this nightmare. Peter clapped his two hands together, grinning widely like crazy, and started to step away from the car to Davis' dismay.

"Hey! Hey, hey, hey! Take it off! I helped you!"

"You're a criminal, you deserve this! Two hours, you deserve it!" He waved over his shoulder. "Bye Mr. Criminal!"

"I got ice cream!"

  
  


**.**

  
  


Peter rubbed both of his sensitive ears with regular circular movements to soothe his eardrums from the painful song of the Ferry's horn. All reconsidered, the strident ringing of his highschool was not that bad when he really thought about it. Well, thinking was a somewhat difficult action to perform with such a deafening racket. Fortunately the Ferry became silent a few minutes after the first meters outside the port crossed. Peter eventually released his breath.

The good news was that he hadn't been noticed.

The bad news was that he had no plan other than finding the bad guys.

Damn, F.R.I.D.A.Y. would have done wonders if she had been integrated into his homemade suit. Peter was in desperate need of technological upgrades, and an intelligent help would be more than welcome, especially now. Though, despite having easy access to the most advanced and equipped labs in the world, the teen couldn't just go there and do his science and research, knowing that the slightest mistake could lead Tony directly to the truth about Spider-Man. He was sorely lacking in means and information.

Hopefully, the villain hunt would go quickly and Peter would be back home in less than an hour. It pleased him to think this way — it was comforting.

But the reality was that he was just a kid on the top of a boat full of citizens that was sailing away, far from any possibility of running away if things went wrong. And on this boat were criminals. Those weapons.

Taking a short break to catch his breath and calm his nerves, Peter looked around to see if the way was clear from any uninvited eyes or ears before crawling on the sides of the Ferry to peer out through windows. Of course, he couldn't hear anything despite his superhuman hearing, every sound was just blurred. However, he could still see. For now, he had one target.

Mac Gargan.

It was the only name he had gotten from Aaron Davis; according to the poor research he had been able to make from his phone — five minutes before rushing to the Ferry — Gargan was nothing more than a despicable gangster with extensive records of crimes under his belt. The kind of guy you shouldn't let free, for sure. Peter intended to restore justice for this individual, but before he had to find the head of the group, hoping it was not a Hydra.

Weapons, buyers, and sellers in one and the same place. So perfect. Too perfect for a Parker.

The vigilante kept a quiet and discreet rhythm as he approached the end side of the Ferry. Of course, if there were to be a deal here, it certainly wouldn't happen in open sight. The rats always stayed down in the shade.

Peter froze and lay flat, still stuck to the iron walls of the boat when he spotted his target.

_Bingo!_

Listening right to his instinct, the teenager was about to jump straight on the man when he suddenly felt vibrations in the pocket of his gray pants which cut his momentum. With a frustrated growl for being disturbed and interrupted at such a crucial time, Peter nevertheless decided to check the call.

Tony Stark. _Oh, hell no_.

First struck by the urge to throw his phone into the water, he quickly realized that ignoring his uncle was not a smart solution — not when the man had been so paranoid since the Harley incident. So, reluctantly, he brought the phone to his ear, praying that Tony had just dialed the number wrong.

"H-Hi!"

" _Hi kid, where are you wandering?_ " Tony's voice echoed. " _I told you to text Happy, did I? Yes, I did_." 

Here they were going, again. Peter rolled his eyes, slowly tilting his head from right to left as he kept his gaze at Gargan. 

"Yeah, I kinda forgot... Sorr—"

" _Nah-ah! 'Sorry' doesn't cut it. There are conditions if you want to keep wandering around like a teen in crisis. The simplest one; let Happy be aware about where you are, with who, and when you get your ass back home._ "

He didn't sound happy, Peter mused as he shifted slightly when someone approached his man. Maybe he could have heard what they were saying if his uncle wasn't bothering him with his annoying words. He tried as much as he could to keep it cool — the time wasn't up for an ego-battle, especially with a rival such as Tony. Thus, he deeply inhaled, and made a special effort to give his uncle what he wanted: an obedient teenager. 

"Look," the young vigilante mumbled, still focused on the duo down there. "I-I'm kinda busy right now..."

With a bit of luck, he would look like a normal teenager, full of hormones, interrupted during the middle of a good lay, which might deter his uncle from digging further. But to think so was underestimating his uncle.

" _I don't want to hear it!_ " Tony snarled, followed by a terse huff. " _You want to be a grown-up, I get it kid. But I have other things to care about right now than your teenage mood, so here what you're gonna do: compute like a good boy, and go home._ " 

"But—"

" _No buts!_ "

Peter pinched the bridge of his nose through the hood, hoping he wouldn't just explode and do or say something very stupide. Hearing his silence, his uncle pursued with a softer tone: 

" _Okay, um... maybe you could work on the project we began yesterday? I'll be busy tonight, but I think I can trust you to not destroy my lab, right Pete?_ "

Peter knew that the man was palavering him to spare himself some resistance from his nephew. But on the other hand, Tony would never have let him go to the lab if he didn't sincerely trust him with it. Peter felt his heart raced up under the excitement — he couldn't help it. He felt like a child at Christmas. However, he could not abandon his mission; even if he wanted to, the teenager was unable to turn around. He was stuck here.

When he opened his mouth to invent an excuse for his uncle, the Ferry's horn sounded and thus censored his lie.

" _What is that?_ " Tony asked after a short silence.

"I'm at Ned's! We're watching Titanic!" he blurted out, feeling the panic rose inside him as he caught sight of a keyes-exchange from the dealers.

" _That's... odd, 'cause Ned is at the Band Practice, and you quit it six months ago._ "

_Shit, shit, shit..._

" _What's up?_ " His uncle's voice was now stern and threatening. 

"I gotta go!"

" _Hey_." Tony warned just before the Queens' vigilante put an end to the call. 

He was so screwed.

"Damnit!" He grunted for himself as he got on his feet, throwing a string of web to pick the keys. "I’ll take those!" 

Nothing left to lose, anyways. Of course Peter had hacked his phone and his watch — again — but this time he just put a false localisation inside of the cell cards to mislead Tony if the man would try to track him when he was Spider-Man. Too bad his localisation was at Ned's. He truly was screwed. 

As several pairs of eyes rose in his direction, Peter made an elegant somersault and landed right in front of the array of criminals who were all still too stunned and surprised to react. It was not the case of Spider-Man, who was revealed to distribute the first punches. The two closest men were the firsts to say hello to the nearest wall; Peter chuckled as he dodged a new attack from one of the criminals who was finally coming out of their torpor, though he quickly lost his smile when he noticed the weapon the guy was using. It was undoubtedly this strange technology, he could only expect this, knowing that it was at the heart of the deal, but he had never seen this weapon yet. Yet, that didn't prevent this man from ending his arm trapped in a barrier after a failed attack. Peter ignored the growls and insults coming from him, when he found himself facing the criminal he recognized as Mac Gargan. For some reason, this guy seemed to be more mad at him than panicked at the thought of being arrested.

" _You_."

"Uh... me?" The teen stepped forward, though Gargan remained stiff. 

"You took the Stark's brat away from me." 

The roles were suddenly reversed, and it was Peter's turn to be frozen on his feet. "Harley...?"

He blinked his surprise away, emerging from his short trance when Gargan pulled a gun out from his jacket. His glare was glowing with hatred and revulsion — it was the kind of look which gives shivers down your spine, and Peter hoped that he would never meet this guy again. He shot a web on the weapon of the man who tried in vain to free his hand, and Spider-Man yanked strongly to force Gargan to stagger forward until he was close enough to receive a punch in the stomach — the force of the blow sent him overboard, though Peter used a new web against his chest to bring him back, enough to have a hold on the Ferry, wishing to avoid drowning a valuable witness.

"Spider-Man is here!" someone grunted.

A smile spread across the teen's face. _That's it, call the boss_.

"Well, that wasn't that bad," He stated for himself while he shot webs on the legs of the last criminal still up to immobilize him.

So, there was only the leader left. The one to whom he owed it all. And it would be thanks to Spider-Man that everything was going to end today. There was only one Hydra head left to cut.

His attention was suddenly drawn further when he heard two consecutive collision sounds. When he wheeled around, however, he only saw one man standing and staring in his direction. Normal human eyes could only have seen the dark silhouette of this man. But Peter's eyes weren't like those of normal humans, thus, despite the opposite side of the light, and the distance between them, the vigilante was able to observe the face of the man responsible for these deals for the first time.

Peter stared back without speaking or moving the criminal's blue eyes — two intelligent and icy orbs — and, in unison, they both smiled spitefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A thought for Chadwick Boseman, who left us after a long fight.  
> He was our Black Panther, but not only: Chadwick was a hero in the real life too, a great man with a big heart. He will remain a model for all of us... 
> 
> RIP.


	10. The Avenger and The Uncle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Er.   
> Late. Very late. But I'm still alive, and so is this fiction, I promise ;) 
> 
> Big Thanks for my beta reader, she's wonderful. 
> 
> Enjoy!

"FBI! Hands up!" Voices shouted all around him, making Spider-Man step back under the surprise as doors snapped open and guns were aiming at him. 

"What?!"

_ Why was the FBI here? Who had called them? _

Peter huffed loudly at this unforeseen interruption. There was too much for him to take care of alone, so the teen begrudgingly lifted both of his gloved hands in evidence at the agents' sight. Today was not the day he would end turned into a colander. 

For a brief moment, he considered the option of jumping into the water and swimming back to the shore. It wasn't as if he could surrender, after all — compliance with the FBI would only lead him to reveal his identity, no matter if Peter wanted it or not. But, then, he remembered that there was another problem among them, the one which drove the vigilant here in the first place. 

A winged problem.

The blue, cold eyes were gone and now substituted with two dangerous and glowing green eyes. Peter hesitantly took another step back when he saw the large mechanical wings that caused sparkes each time the metal feathers collided with the cars, the walls, or the floor. However, above all, he feared the purple-bright weapon the man was holding as he flew forward, right toward Spider-Man and the FBI agents who started to shoot after some warnings. 

Of course, bullets were as useful as a single glass filled with water for an entire burning forest.

"Move, move, move, idiots!" 

Peter didn't hesitate to shove and kick some of the men out of the way —they could deal with bruises, unlike death — before jumping back high ward to save his own life when the criminal darted just beside him after having thrown a whole car at them with his sharp talons. 

"What the hell are you?!" Spider-Man yelled at the winged guy, crawling in a defensive posture on the Ferry walls.

Vaguely, Peter remembered Aaron Davis mentioning a ferrous demon earlier. Now, he could put a pretty clear image on this strange description, and he knew he couldn't have described this winged thing in a better way. Whatever, or whoever this was, Peter could feel eerie vibes pricking the back of his neck. 

"It's a surprise to meet you here, Spider-Man!" He heard the man shout back — he guessed a smile through his tone. "Now, I thought you were more the type to rescue trapped cats in trees!" Then, without any warning, he shot a blast of energy at the vigilante who dodged it with a graceful flip. "Let me tell you this once: the only trapped cat here is you, and everyone else who tries their luck by interfering in my business! You aren’t up for this, so clear off while you still have time for this!"

The teen grumbled under his mask, observing for a short instant his new enemy flying threateningly above him. 

So, this man was the origin of all those deals. And he finally found him. 

Peter grinned. 

It looked like he had an interesting challenge right before him, after all. And Peter was willingly about to accept it, to take up this thrilling challenge and fight with all of his cells' energy. His whole body was ready for this, wrapped with mixed feelings such as fear and excitement while the teen was still gazing at his adversary. A real fight was coming up. Nothing similar Peter had gone through along his short vigilante life, with mere robbers and bullies. This time, right here and right now, Peter would fight a real villain — the first one,  _ his _ first one. If he wasn't ready, then he would never be. 

Then, the confrontation began. 

Peter already knew his chances were in hand-to-hand combat. He couldn't do much except dodging with an arsenal of figures against the criminal's weapon as it fired energy blasts toward him. Witnessing how the metal was melting down and being perforated under the temperature of every shot which hit the ferry's lower ground, Peter opted to gain height, as far as possible from the civilians and FBI agents — only one person had to die, and it would either be himself or this vulture guy.

"Hey! Get down, you coward!" Spider-Man said accusingly.

His webs were not strong enough to restrain the man and his technology; every time Peter managed to shoot a web at one of his wings, or his chest, it was cut the very next instant after a brief struggle. 

"I'd rather not!" A snicker answered him. 

Peter grunted, feeling powerless. If he couldn't even touch the man, or force him down with his webs, what was he supposed to do? The flying guy had the advantage on his side, and he was making great profits of it. Though, Peter hadn't said his last words, yet. He lifted his right hand and shot a first time at the glimmering weapon with his web-shooters — the web made a sizzling sound when it encountered the weapon, and fell the next instant after having lost its grip once burned from the metal surface. 

"Damn..." he mumbled for himself.

The wings' hum became louder as the criminal approached the Ferry, seeking for a better angle to get others shots on the young vigilante. Peter deciphered his plan quickly enough to move away from his position, and he kept swinging this way for the following minute, playing with his adversary's patience until he could eventually find any weakness or opportunity to strike back. But since this opportunity never showed up, Peter finally tempted to shoot new strings of web at the man. For now, his principal problem was the weapon. He could never win this way, not when he could get atomized at any moment. 

After a few tries, Peter made a mental note — if his webs weren't enough, then maybe he could try to use them more. In default of quality, the teen still got quantity.

First, he heard the man curse as he shot new webs at his chest, particularly at his weapon until he could have a stronghold on it, then Peter let out a surprised gasp when he got yanked away from the boat's wall whilst the criminal built some distance by flying higher. None of them was ready to give up the hold — Peter on the weapon, and the crime boss on Spider-Man's webs. 

For the teenager, it was either he let go and fall into the water, or he kept holding on, taking the risk of being shot and tried to steal his enemy's weapon. 

Since his young reckless spirit hadn't faded yet, his decision was pretty fast taken. There was no way he could concede anything to this guy, not as long he was breathing. So he started to clamber up along the last string of web he had aimed at his opponent's chest, ready to start the real part of the fight when he would encounter the man's level. Though, this time it was at the criminal's turn to guess through Peter's plans. And, of course, he didn't let it happen. 

Spider-Man stiffened when he saw the wings shifting. He barely had enough time to realize what was on the man's mind when the feathers cut in a firm gesture on the web, which made the vigilante lose his hold and then made him fall toward the water under him. Maybe he shouldn't have got that distance away from the ferry, else maybe he could have managed to swing on it instead of getting immersed into the sea. 

His hooded head was the first to resurface as he coughed out some salty water from his throat as much as he could despite the tissue against his mouth, whipping widely his limbs around him as he searched for the boat where he could eventually find refuge. Just when he took sight of it, at maybe forty meters away, something clenched sharply against both of his biceps and pushed him back into the water. Peter’s primal instincts were to scream. Scream and breath, fighting the harsh pain rising into his arms and fighting the agonizing lack of oxygen. 

The vision of a cloud made with his blood dispersing among bubbles, which was exiting his lips, worked on Peter as an adrenaline syringe. He used all of his strength left to bend his arms and reach for both of the man's ankles, just above his shoulders. When he grabbed them, he felt the talons unwrapping from his biceps, also as the struggles that the criminal made in an attempt to free his legs from the vigilante's hands. 

_ Oh, no... you're not going anywhere. _ __

Despite running out of oxygen, Peter could still resist longer underwater than normal humans. And there was his advantage right now. 

Tightening his grip at his opponent's legs, Peter focused on the surface sounds and cast a glance upward. The vulture guy looked almost desperate, considering all the buzzing energy Spider-Man could hear and feel in the mechanical wings. He hypothesised that his suit was not waterproof, which let this guy only have two options: take the risk to let Spider-Man drag him into the water, or find another way to get rid of him once he would have taken safe altitude.

The Vulture guy — Peter decided to name — kept trying to drown the vigilante for a few seconds, before finally flying high ward, accepting begrudgingly the younger's hold on his ankles. However, as soon as they were far enough from the sea level, the criminal didn't hesitate to use his keen talons against Spider-Man, his weapon still being stuck against his chest and left arm because of the webs which were slowly dissolving and burning, to Peter's displeasure. It didn't allow him much time left. 

"Thanks for the shower!" The vigilante spat bitterly, hissing when he stopped a talons attack with his bare hand, leading inevitably to bad cuts at his fingers. "Wouldn't mind putting me down now?"

No answer, just several grunts. Peter smirked nevertheless when he finally got to hit the man's head with his elbow. His only goal was to break the bird's wings and put him in a cage. 

During the punches fight, the teen received some impressive hits — the suit gave the man superhuman strength too — though Peter remained the superior fighter. He could have won, if the heavy weapon between their bodies hadn't begun to vibrate and emit hot smoke, obliging Spider-Man to flinch back. The Vulture guy jumped on this chance and shoved the vigilante violently away from him. Peter, losing his balance, let go. Fortunately for the teen, the Ferry was to his webs reach, thus he only had to swing before landing on the Ferry, sighing with relief when his feet encountered a solid ground. It was much better than drowning. 

Hearing a low bump behind him, Peter wheeled around and frowned when he spotted the Vulture's weapon, still quivering and glowing brighter and brighter. 

"It was fascinating!" The criminal boasted, seeming to take distance as he spoke. "I think we'll meet again, Spider-Man. Oh, and allow me to offer you this gift before I leave!" He waved at the weapon with a dark chuckle. "Never interfere with my business again."

Peter's blood ran cold when he understood that the criminal was getting away. His first real fight, his first villain was slipping through his fingers, and he somehow knew there wasn't anything he could do to stop it. 

His mission had failed. 

Screaming his rage as the man disappeared from his sight, something caught the vigilante's attention near him; without thinking, he stepped back and frowned down at the tremoring weapon. Webs must have damaged it, for what Peter could say. But if it explained why the Vulture had left it there, it didn't give Spider-Man the slightest clue about what he should do to turn off this alien device before anything could happen. And something bad would happen sooner than expected, Peter was aware of this thanks to his spider senses. 

Though, he never suspected the whole boat to be split into two founding parts in less than one minute.

He had tried. He had tried everything, and anything. And he found Spider-Man's limits when the ferry was still slowly sinking into the water whilst he was striving to hold both of its parted sides, until a miracle would eventually happen, praying he could hold long enough for coastal security to come to help the civilians onboard. 

The miracle happened — arrived, saving the day — as usual. 

"Hey, Spider-Man," Iron-Man greeted. 

At first stunned by his uncle's appearance, torn between a deep frustration and a huge relief, Peter decided finally to rejoice in the prospect of no one dying because of his weakness and mistakes. Tony, here, now, was both the worst and the best thing that could have happened.

"Mr. Stark!" Peter called out, following the avenger as he was soldering back the ferry. 

He froze when Iron Man simply turned toward him and shot a blast at his feet; Peter dodged it with a quick jump and then glared at Tony accusingly. "What the hell?"

Another blast. This time, the teen jumped farther, building a wide gap between them as a security, though Iron Man was already gone before he could even say anything. Confusion started to invade the younger thoughts when he noticed that the places which had been touched by the blasts were barely burned, just as if they weren't meant to hurt in the first place. Tony didn't even try to hurt him, the proof being the fact that the man kept shooting randomly at him each time Spider-Man sneaked in his sight, but Peter dodged every time without real effort in his moves. 

This strange game lasted about ten minutes, with Tony consolidating weak structures while firing time to time at the Queens' vigilante, and Spider-Man kept following the avenger, waiting for an opportunity to help and show how much he could be useful. 

Eventually, Iron Man glanced at him, a few meters above. "Last time we met, I told you that if I found out anything which could connect the dots between you and my son's assault, I'd kill you. How do you think it looks to see you and your ugly pyjamas around here, kicking FBI's agents' ass?" He aimed a repulsor at Spider-Man. "'Not mentioning the people you almost got killed, and this poor Titanic remake."

Peter swallowed, feeling his limbs stiffening. 

"It wasn't me..." He breathed, clenching his fists. "I was here to… help."

"Well, remind me to never let you help me, then," Tony responded with a harsh tone, obviously irritated with the situation. 

Peter tried to not flinch back at the comment.

"Are you gonna kill me?"

He had fluid left, maybe he could stand up to his uncle one more time. There was no need to beat about the bush, anyway. They were on a boat, and Iron Man had the technology required to track him down no matter where he could try to hide. He knew it was nothing else than a hopeless fight, dooming him to a unique end, though he was ready to lose with dignity. 

There was a long tense silence, where Iron Man just stared at him, and then the man finally answered. "You saved my son." 

Yes, he did. Nevertheless, he didn't expect Iron Man to spare him despite what he had done, although he still had hints of hope inside of him. Maybe it would be his ticket to scoot off without additional injury. 

"You're going to sign the Accords." 

The teen grimaced under his mask. "I think not, thanks, though."

"Wasn't a proposition." 

"I know. I just figured that I'm not in the position to say 'fuck you', so, I play the polite card. Did it work? Does it work?"

He heard Iron Man sighed, his shoulders slightly slouching down. "Listen, Underoos. There are things with which you can't mess around, or ignore. If it doesn't end today, it'll end pretty soon in the future, in a way you won't be able to control, I am not the bad guy in this shitty story. Trust me, I'm doing you a favour. All you need to do in exchange is surrender without causing a flap."

"I'm Spider-Man." The vigilante said in a firm tone, straightening up. "I'm not complying with anything, or with anyone's stupid law!"

He would have spit on the floor if there wasn't his hood. Standing still was hard though, now that his energy and adrenaline were beginning to fade. Peter could feel the laceration on both of his biceps burning with pain, especially with his sleeves soaked with salty water from his earlier swim. His jaw jolted angrily when Peter thought about the one who had done that to him — said one who wasn't there anymore. 

"Why are we even talking about it?!" Spider-Man scolded. "I found the boss! The Vulture guy!" He swore he could have felt his uncle raise an eyebrow, even though he was wearing the Iron Man's helmet. "I found the fucking seller! And he... he just flew away!"

Tony didn't move, which led Peter to throw his arms in the airs.

"Oh, c'mon! Try something, go after him, do your work for once!"

"Yeah, I agree with this. You're under arrest—"

"Is that a joke?" Peter cut dryly, stepping back. 

"Depends on you."

"I almost stopped him!"

"You said it all, Underoos: 'almost'. And 'almost' isn't enough for me. Whatever you've tried, you've failed! Maybe you do not care about your ways, but I do, especially when you almost kill everyone on this boat! Lucky for you, there isn't any death, but what you would have done otherwise? Huh?! Oh, I forgot: you don't care, Mr. Perfect Vigilante."

Despite all the hatred that was in his hammering heart, Peter barked a bitter laugh. "I can't believe Iron-Man is lecturing me! Jesus, this is so fucked up..." He began to pace furiously, soothing his wired nerves while keeping playing again and again his uncle's incredibly ironic speech into his mind. 

"You aren't up to it, Spider-Man. You should start to think about it, while you still can. You're alone, with no one on your side, and with all of your enemies on the others. The solo life won't last long. Even if I let you go today." 

Peter's head rose so quickly that he could have almost heard a crack into his neck. 

"You're letting me go?" 

He internally cursed himself for his voice sweating with hope. 

The billionaire gestured negatively with his hand. "No. That's not what I'm saying."

Feeling a little more confused the young vigilante tilted his head to the left, waiting for a clarification or some explanation. Though, since as far as he could sense he didn't feel any threat coming from his uncle, Peter didn't put himself in a defensive posture. It was all in Tony's hand. 

"What I am saying though, is that the rescue service ships will be there in two minutes top and that if you and you're ugly pyjama’s are still on this damn boat after the next five minutes, then I'll drag you personally at our dear secretary Ross's feet before you could even say ‘Shazam’. Now, are you moving away from my sight or should I give you a hand for this?"

Peter stumbled back as he heard the familiar sound of Iron Man's hands repulsors charging up with energy. Before he could say anything in turn, the man was already gone and out of sight, probably seeking for any soul in distress, thus leaving Spider-Man alone as the ships were mooring the closest possible from the Ferry to rescue the passengers.

  
  


**.**

  
  


In the chronicle of all the bad, reckless, and dumb choices Peter had made through his strange life, he could easily say that this decision had been really — really — both brilliant and foolish. And if it was too late for regrets, he nevertheless had a lot of them.

The tension in the room was highly charged. Toxic.

And the only thing he could do against it was to wriggle on the couch, fighting the urge to make a sprint to his room just to escape the stifling atmosphere he couldn't stand anymore. 

Peter wasn't sure exactly if he was more disturbed by this horrible tobacco smell embedded within his clothes and its taste on his tongue, or by his uncle's cold stare. Gulping dryly, the teen dared a glance up, crossing Tony's eyes for a second before breaking the next instant of contact. Briefly, he wondered if this awkward nightmare would end eventually; it was just as if his uncle knew how much the silence was killing him. Perhaps it was the goal, all things considered. Peter had sworn that Tony could have strangled him to death by the simple fact of F.R.I.D.A.Y. 's tensed voice which she had used to alert the teen about his uncle's arrival at the penthouse, and his request for his nephew to get in the living room. Neither Pepper nor Happy were around to help him. So it was just both of them. 

Spider-Man had faced Iron Man, and now Peter had to face Tony.

However, Peter was more scared for his confrontation than his alter-ego had been. This time, webs couldn't save him. 

"So," the billionaire finally started in a surprisingly calm pace — almost melodic. "Would you bother to explain to me... why? Where? How? I don't know, Peter, but give me something to work on here, because I'm pretty sure I'm running out of brain fuel with you." 

Maybe having drunk all this alcohol were a bad idea in the aftermaths, Peter thought again. And having smoked too. But, at least, it was doing its job, which was procuring him the perfect alibi to justify a lot of things, starting with the fact he had once more hacked his phone and his watch. When Tony suddenly slammed his fist on the coffee table, the loud  _ bump _ caused the teen to flinch back and lose the small smile he hadn't noticed until this moment. 

"DAMMIT PETER!" Tony snarled, expressing openly his vehement anger at his nephew.

Peter felt like he was trying to shrink until he could sink into the oblivion, or allowing the couch to swallow him wholly. It would have been nice. Nicer than confronting Tony who was seething and glaring right at him. Was he even blinking, sometimes? Peter didn't verify this theory. He kept his head low so that he could still observe Tony out of the corner of his eyes, and bit pensively his tongue, knowing that in a way or another, he would have to go through this argument with his uncle. 

"I had this little voice in my head, earlier, which whispered to me how much this day would be a pain in the ass, so I just braced myself up 'cause I was okay and ready with my original plans. And then, I have on one hand a failing operation, and a runaway drunk teenager on the other hand!"

"I'm not a runaway—" 

"Zip it! You've done and said enough!" 

"But I didn't say anything yet!" Peter weakly countered. 

"Which is far enough for you, young man! Fuck..." The man pinched the bridge of his nose. "Did I just say 'young man'? Great, I look like my father now."

While a part of him wanted to accept the situation and the lecture, another part of Peter grunted inside of him, offended. His meeting with the Vulture was still haunting his mind, such as the wounds under his clothes. Thankfully, none of them was bleeding. Though, his defeat remained a bitter pill to swallow. Peter mused about it endlessly and restlessly, torturing his brain with hypothetical thoughts about how the fight could have ended if only he had acted differently. He was being unfairly yelled at while those criminals were free. Free to hurt people. Frustration grew up, but the teenager refused to argue back, especially when it was useless. As a poor consolation, he reminded himself that having Tony believing that his nephew was a reckless and annoying kid was a good thing. Hell, he hadn't drunk and smoked like crazy in a dirty alley before returning home for nothing, after all. Peter was surprised he hadn't thrown up yet — not because of the alcohol, which was being inhumanly quickly digested, but once again because of tobacco's displeasing smell and taste. 

A snap near his face made him focus back on his uncle. 

"Hey, you heard me?! Pay attention!"

Peter dug his back deeper into the couch, burying his hands into his pockets. "Yeah, I'm listening... how someone could even not hear you, huh?"

"Oh, it's the sass Peter now?" Tony smiled without a hint of sympathy. "Harley's better at this game, find your weapons." 

"You're overreacting!" The teen whined. "If you can yell and point at me, then it means I'm alive! Isn't it a good start?!"

Tony's dark eyes flashed with a peeved and offended spark as his nostrils widened when he inhaled shortly, taking his nephew's reproach. Peter squirmed again as if it could save him from his uncle's gaze which was settling the tone between them. Tony looked truly up in arms.

"'Overreacting'?!" He leaned down, seeking for the younger's eyes. "Well, if 'overreacting' means being upset because my dumb nephew broke the only rule he had to follow — for his security — then,  _ yes _ , I'm overreacting!"

As the engineer started to pace again like a lion in a cage, Peter took this opportunity to release his breath he had stuck in his lungs for the previous twenty seconds. 

"What's wrong with you Peter?!" Tony quickly pursued, his hands gestures wide and sharp in the air. "Now, it's alcohol and cigarettes, and then? Drugs? Girls — boys? Building a bomb because you're bored?"

"Wasn’t that your thing?" the teen abruptly spat. 

He saw Tony's face turn deadly pale — it appeared Peter had struck a nerve. 

"Who knows? Maybe I'm the next Merchant of Death, following right my uncle's steps. Doesn't it sound good?"

It was low for sure, but no less effective. Peter might have delighted his victory a little bit more if the familiar tingling sensation on the back of his neck hadn't manifested, heralding the imminent arrival of danger. Meanwhile Tony stepped forward, his eyes cold and his muscles tense at the point that, for a second, Peter was afraid of being hit by him.

Wincing in both surprise and discomfort as the man grabbed him by the collar, Peter was forced to stand up and look his uncle in the eye, where he could see an indecipherable expression — an expression he couldn't remember seeing on his uncle's face for as far as he could remember. It was then that he noticed the tears which threatened to fall on his cheeks.

_ Oh, shit. _

Maybe he had gone too far. Peter first wanted to apologize, to make it up to Tony for the horrible words he had said, but he didn't have time to say much.

"Do you know how much it cost before I finally opened my eyes, Peter?"

He downed his head. 

"No! You look at me!"

A brief shake; he closed his eyelids. 

"It did cost lives. No one, nor two. Not even hundreds, but thousands! Thousands of lives lost, because I wasn't able to see further than the end of my nose! I was selfish, never giving a second thought about my responsibilities, and let alone the consequences of my choices! People died, Peter! Is it what you want?!"

Cheeks red with shame, the teenager tried weakly to break the man's hold on his clothes, in vain. 

"I'm not perfect, that's damn true, but I won't let my boys turn into two spoiled assholes. Count on me with that, kid."

When Tony let go, Peter rushed for the exit. 

"I love you," his uncle said, making Peter stop. "More than you could ever imagine, hell, even more than life itself. But right now, I'm so disappointed in you."

The words sunk in his stomach as fresh cement, mixing with the bitter guilt already present. He tried to keep his head high, but silent tears were already falling on his cheeks, so Peter continued his way until he was safe in his room. 

As usual, one step forward, and two backward. 

And he was still the same little shit, the eternal loser that kept disappointing his loved ones.

**.**


	11. Dream of some Peace

If the Vulture had made a getaway; it was definitely Tony's fault.

That was the thought that haunted Peter on a hellish loop as he strove against a punching bag under his best friend's awed stare.

"He could have pursued him, I don't know, gone looking for this maniac while he was still in the neighborhood…" More punches, vehement and aggressive. "But, nooo, of course. Iron Man was too busy parading around, playing hero."

The speed of the punches quickened up, soon reaching at superhuman speed. Though, as long as there was no one else in the weight room but him and Ned, he didn't need to worry about his excesses. Truth was that all he cared about at this instant was to externalize his rage and the energy he had accumulated since the Ferry incident. He needed to hit, to scream… he needed more.

Damn, he needed to put this criminal in a cage!

"Peter!" Ned suddenly warned, as the punching bag threatened to break down at any moment under the impact of the young vigilante’s blows.

"Ah, dammit..." he sighed eventually, taking off his hand protections absentmindedly which he let fall down as he walked towards Ned — his friend handed him a water bottle with a look of compassion. 

"It wasn't that bad... nobody died, right?"

Right. Thanks to Iron Man; Spider-Man would have got them all killed. 

"But the Vulture-guy flew away!"

"You found him once, why not a second time? This dude lives with his business, he'll make a mistake eventually and then," —he hit his fist into his left palm— "you'll catch him"

_As if it was that easy..._

This guy was nothing similar to what Peter used to deal with. He was not a cheap criminal who was begging to be banged-up next a two-bit robbery. No. Clearly not. No matter who this man was, he knew what he was doing. He was cunning, powerful, armed... He was the kind of person his uncle could have become if he had chosen a different path. The Vulture had the potential to do so much harm with the technology he possessed. If today the desire came to him, he could destroy a whole part of the city before being spotted. And how many innocent people would lose their lives? How much life would it cost because Iron Man wouldn't have taken this situation seriously, realizing how wrong he was by underestimating this new enemy?

Peter felt a lump forming in his throat. Tony was unaware of the danger. Why couldn't he just listen to him? Just _once_?

"Maybe... maybe you should reconsider your uncle's proposition?"

Peter turned his head so fast he almost heard a 'crack' in the back of his neck.

" _Wot?_ " 

Ned held up both hands in a gesture that was meant to be reconciling and reassuring.

"I know that sounds bad, but... listen... Spider-Man is awesome, he's the dream of everyone in Queens, and I support him — you — one hundred percent... though, I don't want you to end up in a forsaken prison for super-creepies. For... some of people, this is a long overdue flying over your head. I'm serious dude, this is freaking me out, I don't know if I would be able to hack the Raft's system and help you to clear off frome it once you'd get caught!"

"Ned, wait- _what_ _?_ What the hell are you talking ab—"

"Thing is! That... er, maybe, you know...? Maybe... Maybe you should talk with Tony. Consider… telling the truth."

With a bound, Peter stood up from the pile of mats they were sitting on, and began to pace furiously. A feeling of anger was already starting to blind him despite the exercise he performed on his breathing so as not to explode. He could hardly believe what Ned was implying. Part of him felt betrayed, while another part knew it made sense. And it was so infuriating.

"Oh, please, Ned, don't start with that! You know I can't surrender!"

"This isn't about surrendering like a criminal, Peter. This is about you! About your safety!"

"I'm Tony Stark's freaking nephew, Ned! May Stark's nephew, and Mary Stark's kid! I've never been more safe in my whole life!" 

"Tony will protect you!" Ned countered.

"Tony is a selfish bastard!"

Although he knew he was losing his temper with the influence of his astir emotions, Peter still couldn't bring himself to calm down, or even lower his tone. Ned had nothing to do with it, though he needed to understand. He was dangerously naïve, which was a flaw that must be eradicated as quickly as possible given his close relationship with the masked vigilante.

"I can't—I won't give up Spider-Man because it's too risky, Ned. I know my uncle, and what he said about helping each other — this is bullshit. He's a talker. Charming people with beautiful words has always been his thing. But Spider-Man isn't the type of guy who lets himself get caught in a web; he's free, he has no allies. The day someone will put a fucking dog collar on me hasn't come yet, I tell you that! Especially not Tony! I’d rather die!"

During his monologue, he didn't realize that he had been traveling all the way across the room, so he joined back Ned with an impressive flip, worthy of Spider-Man-like, and then placed both hands on his friend's shoulders once facing him, leaning forward slightly to align their eyes and gain his attention.

"Listen, dude. I'm fine. It's only a question of time — days, maybe weeks, but this ferrous bird is a dead man. I can do it. I don't need _anyone's_ help."

He saw Ned narrowing his eyes, pain evident in his gaze. "Hmm."

With this, his friend stood up, picked up his backpack, and left the room with one last pained look over his shoulder. Peter didn't realize his mistake until too late.

"Ned, I didn't mean—"

The door closed after Ned walked out, leaving the teenager alone in a disturbing silence, doomed to dwell internally on his thoughts and mistakes.

Throwing his head back, Peter let out a long, eloquent groan. He had enough of this shit. To believe that every-freaking-thing he did was never good enough for anyone around him; there was always a way for him to screw things up, either he wanted it or not. Did he get a curse instead of a birth certificate when he had come to this world? It wouldn't even be surprising, actually.

The door opened. 

"Ned?" he asked hopefully before coming to a halt when Flash Thompson entered the room. 

Oh. Well, crap. 

For a second, they stared at one another without saying anything, both of them probably too taken aback to throw any smart quip.

Flash was the first to break the silence, walking hesitantly to the other side of the room to put down a five pounds weight with the others. "Hum, sorry—"

"—no, no, it's fine—"

"—just needed to put it away—"

"—yeah, no problem."

"Yeah."

"Yeah..."

And then, again, an awkward silence.

Peter tried a smile, probably in an attempt to make the situation a little less uncomfortable, but it turned out it was unsuccessful. Not even because his smile was tense (and obviously fake) but because the whole context was bizarre. He, and Flash, his childhood bully, in the same room, considering that he was without a top and that the teenager's eyes were lingering more than necessary on his chest. Peter suddenly felt naked under his gaze, and began to squirm on his foot, crossing his arms to create a barrier of privacy and make himself less vulnerable, and, of course, less exposed.

Out of habit, and also subject to his many childhood memories, Peter braced himself to receive some mockeries as every time he and The Flash found themselves in this kind of situation — mostly in the school locker room, but this scenario was similar. Though, to his great surprise, insults never came.

Flash seemed to come out of his staring trance, briefly shaking his head and frowning in disbelief. 

"What the hell, Parker, how did you get those?!"

Following Flash’s eyes, Peter looked down curiously, both intrigued and anxious about what was keeping the other's attention so much. Realisation hit him like thunder as his cheeks started to darken with red shades. They were talking about his abs. 

He wasn't supposed to have abs. Peter Parker was the puny, shy kid who tripped on his own laces.

"O-Oh, yeah, hum..." he laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck. 

_An excuse, an excuse...._

"I started to work out!"

Flash narrowed his eyes, still dumbfounded. 

"You?"

Peter nodded firmly. "Yeah. Me."

"Since... since when do you like sports?"

"Since I want to cosplay Thor for the next expo."

It was definitely a Nerd-Peter argument. Perfectly acceptable. 

Eventually, Flash sighed. "This," he pointed to Peter's abdomen, "is unfair. I've been training for years to have less than half of yours!"

Jealousy wasn't a thing Peter could have imagined to see on his childhood bully face, but here it was. Hell, he looked as if he was pouting now, which made him hide a small grin over this fact. 

"Genetics?" 

"Genetics suck." Flash grumbled while heading out, hands buried in his pockets. But before leaving the room, he turned toward Peter. "They look good on you, Penis."

_Fucking basta—_

The door closed, again.

Well... that was weird, to say the least. Peter didn't know if Flash's words had been sincere or if they had been the result of his tireless sarcasm. But in the end, he decided to throw in the towel — he already had enough to worry about, no need to add to the list this moron who didn't deserve time or effort.

Concerns like Vulture-guy, his uncle, Ned, and also like Spider-Man...

All of his troubles had this damn common source. And although he would have liked to lock everything away in a drawer so that he never had to talk about it again for the rest of his life, it remained an absurd, inconceivable dream. Spider-Man was a duty. His duty. Yet, he had this persistent impression that he was the least well placed person in the world to have inherited these mysterious gifts, all those curious capacities he had never asked for. The image he had conceived of his alter-ego when it had all started was far from the current reality. Peter knew he had already ruined that chance - the one thing that had made him special and that had finally allowed him to prove something.

The Vulture had fled. He wouldn't have a chance to stop him, not until there were more victims.

His uncle refused to speak to him; it was reciprocal, but no less painful.

To cap it off, Spider-Man had failed to save an innocent man on his last patrol. That night, a few days ago, Peter had been distracted with his personal preoccupations. And someone had paid the price.

Someone was killed for Spider-Man to not have been good enough, and, meanwhile, Peter Parker was still breathing. 

It was like Ben.

How could one live with such a conscience?

Why couldn't he have, like everyone else, the chance to give up? Because he was Spider-Man, he couldn't — that was what they thought. He had to try everything, bounce-back from each failure and return to fight. That was what the heroes did, right? It was what people expected of him. The same people who bluntly pointed at him, who despised him, these people who didn't believe in him.

Peter mused about the feelings that came to his mind every time he ventured to skim the newspaper, or browse a social media article about Spider-Man: it was a corrosive habit he'd taken from the beginning, thirsty for the love and appreciation the Queens could have on its most loyal protector. Maybe he had let all these opinions interfere with his judgment too much. It had reached him. And it hurt.

He could feel it in his bones: helplessness.

Spider-Man wasn't what he had been meant to be. He wasn't good enough.

God, he needed some air...

He needed to put on his suit — his mask — and get out of here. 

Before he could register it, his world turned black as he staggered to the window.

**_._ **

The most curious thing when he emerged from his lethargy was undoubtedly the familiarity he felt for his new surroundings. There was no fear, apprehension, or loneliness. Just a feeling of comfort and peace. It was soothing.

He wanted to keep his eyes closed.

“Sometimes, it's preferable to open them,” a voice commented on his thoughts.

_But I feel fine._

"Many people tend to wallow in a lie as long as it is providing them any wellbeing. But that’s not less than a lie."

The teenager opened his eyes.

He was in his room. Not the one in the tower, but the one at May's. His room. The place where he felt the best, and the most secure. It was his personal bubble. Hence the fact that he feels so safe here.

Everything was in its usual place: from the poster on the wall to the notebook on his desk. The illusion was still so perfect.

“Isn't it?” The voice rejoiced, finally catching the attention of Peter who sat up on the edge of the old bed.

The man sitting across the room in a wheelchair smiled warmly at him, slowly tilting his head as a casual greeting. "Hello, Peter. It's been a while."

The concerned grimaced, scratching the stop of his nose.

Even if he'd wanted to, he couldn't have panicked. The man was blocking it. The illusion was too flawless to let him diverge from where Charles Xavier wanted to bring him. There was like a shield that protected him from any negative emotion. He just couldn't be unhappy. Besides, it wasn't the first time the professor had granted himself a visit inside Peter's head.

“It's always surprising, I was told,” the man admitted, his unperturbed gaze still on the younger.

"It's creepy."

"I can make it actually scary, but I doubt you would like that."

Peter's eyes widened. He knew that the man had no reason to start on him, though he could still imagine the nightmare that Professor Xavier could create and implant in his head if he wished to. His powers were terrifying. His mind was impressive.

"Thanks, Peter."

"Please don't read my mind..."

"I'm already in there, though," Charles explained, tapping his own temple with two fingers.

Frustration grew in Peter as his nostrils were dilating. He still didn't know what to do — how to react — with having a mutant in his head. Should he be feeling offended? Violated? His helplessness was once again evident.

“Yeah, cool, but what do you want from me, old man?” Peter was turning impatient.

“This is just a mere courtesy call, my young friend. You seemed to be particularly nervous lately."

The man’s face reflected an expression of curiosity that silently invited Peter to give some explanation.

"If you can read my brain as if it was a fucking open book, why don't you go find what you want to find there, huh?" He fulminated, shying away from the professor's gaze, his hands clasped together nervously on his lap which was ironic since he couldn't really feel stress.

"Well, let's say I'm interested to hear the way you see things."

"Speaking tires me out."

"Aren't you usually a talkative person, Peter?" Charles inquired, tilting his head.

"I was. I'm not anymore."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why are you no longer talkative?"

A sigh of exasperation from Peter followed the words. "I don't know! People change, that's all!"

Hell, it looked just like he was at the therapist's. Except he couldn't leave the appointment unless the man decided otherwise. His game, his rules.

"You remind me of Harley."

Peter frowned. "How do you know him"?"

The answer was another one of those insufferable mysterious smiles, so he decided not to dig any further so as not to give satisfaction to his interlocutor. He was already having trouble knowing why the professor was so keen to talk to him in the first place. Was he going to invite him to his weird school again?

“No, you wouldn't be ready for that.”

“Stop reading my mind.”

"So, you are going to be talkative after all? You know, I was looking forward to having a chat with you. Your energy is fascinating."

"And what? What do you want me to tell you exactly? That I know I'm not crazy? That I can have a normal life? Hey, we've already been through that shit. Nothing has changed."

"You have two eyes, you are breathing, you are healthy... you look very normal to me."

There they were again. 

"And I stick to the walls. Super normal, yeah," Peter sneered wryly.

"It's strange... I noticed how bitter you got when we mentioned Spider-Man. Am I correct in assuming that this is the source of your anxiety?"

How could it not be? He was a mistake of Nature dressed in a fancy suit who was playing Tarzan across New York. Peter didn't have many people to talk to about his fears. These head-to-head talks were most of those rare occasions. Therefore, he gave in. 

“This is… this is crazy… I just feel like everything is slipping away from me. I'm losing control. Everything I have done to help this city and those I love is falling apart. I... I tried, I'm trying, but... but I feel like I will never make it. I created Spider-Man and yet I am not worthy of him. I am a hypocrite."

The professor gave a small nod, while Peter found himself expecting some sort of answer from the man that might solve everything. 

Overtime, he had learned to rely only on himself and to reject the help of others. By now, desperation had become more important than his pride.

“It wouldn't be wise of me to encourage you to remain Spider-Man,” Charles said as Peter bowed his head in defeat. “Not with the way you imagine who Spider-Man is.”

A growl escaped the young vigilante before he could think of a more decent answer. “What are you talking about, old man?”

Again, the only thing he got from him was a smile.

"Why do you always have to be so precious about it?! Life isn't a giant puzzle, it is not a game!"

"Actually… its individuals are the most interesting thing. Each of them."

“Thank you, Mr. Philosopher, that’s very helpful,” Peter muttered, feeling for a moment like his uncle to handle irony so well.

“Life is not easy, I concede you this. I myself struggle to understand a tiny part of it. There is always so much to learn."

"But I don’t care!"

Maybe the professor was allowing him to feel a little distress, after all. He always felt like he had too many thoughts and not enough room for them in his head. What he needed now was answers, not riddles to think about for ages. So, why was Professor Xavier so obstinate to set upon him if it was just to torment him more than he already was? What was his goal?

“And what's yours?”

“I… I told you before.” Peter huffed lightly, nibbling the inside of his cheek to check if he could still feel the pain in this delusion — surprisingly, yes.

“People’s goals keep changing over the course of a lifetime. They evolve, like all things. Like your uncle, Tony Stark, did."

Peter felt a powerful wave of anger caged in his chest, pushing it from exploding and thus inhibiting all traces of rationality. "I don't want to talk about him..."

"Me neither," the professor chuckled softly before regaining his seriousness moments later. "So what do you want, Peter?"

"What I want?"

Charles acquiesced, showing a respectful silence to the thoughts of the younger one who seemed to delve into a brief reflection on the question. If one day he could have answered it without the slightest hint of hesitation, he had to admit that it was no longer the case today. In fact, nothing was like it used to be. Something had changed. And as Peter considered the professor's question, no answer was coming up to his mind. Everything brought him back to that room in Queens where he felt so good.

"Ah," Charles whispered, "security."

"No. Spider-Man isn’t safe. Never." Peter shook his head, hugging himself with his arms as if trying to warm himself.

"No, indeed. There is nothing that can assure you total safety as a clandestine vigilante, my young friend. I'm afraid the number of your allies is far too small on this vast mission. Now that you begin to feel the magnitude of the responsibility you have taken on your shoulder, you also realize that—"

“I'm not good enough,” Peter concluded sharply.

What had he been thinking after all? What could a fifteen year old runt like him bring to the world? There was a time when he believed he had the opportunity to stand out from the rest of his family — to live in his own light instead of the shadow of others. It was just a childhood dream.

Give powers to a child, and they'll do stupid things with it.

He could still sense the professor's gaze on him, who was scrutinizing him so intensely that he eventually felt uneasy. What was the man looking for?

"Peter. Just because someone has strayed from the right path does not mean they are lost forever. Our mistakes don't define us: it's what we decide to do with the lessons we learn from them that matters. Being successful is not always a source of rejoicing if you excel in the wrong way.''

“So we can fail as long as we're on the right path? Bullshit. There will always be people to remind losers that they are good for nothing. People die when Spider-Man fails... is that a good thing?!"

“Failure means you at least have tried.”

"If you tell me that it's the taking part that counts, I'll give you a good reason to be in a wheelchair." Peter threatened, looking away anyway — he didn't want to show the man his tears.

"You know, I think you would need a great conversation with a young boy that I had the pleasure to meet, not so long ago. He would surprise you, as he surprised me, for sure. You see, he lived with the belief that if bad things happened when he could have decided otherwise by intervening, then those bad things happened because he had let them happen. Doesn't that sound familiar to you?"

It was Ben's words — his wisdom. Yes, he had been inspired by it. He had hoped to bring part of his uncle and his worldview to life through Spider-Man, because it was a righteous vision. What had happened that drove Peter to decide to turn his back on his commitments?

Too ashamed to give an answer, he preferred to remain silent. Again, he knew very well where the professor wanted to lead his thoughts.

"None deserve to be blamed for making a mistake. Redemption is always possible, as long as one does not give up."

“Redemption…” He laughed humorlessly, his eyes still burning. "I don't think I deserve it. It's too late for that."

"Is it, though?"

Some mistakes were irreparable. Peter lived in regret for his decisions, and, in the end, he hadn't become better than the rest. He had been too blind to make the right choices, and there certainly was no magical fairy to undo all the bad things that had been done. No turning back. No forgiveness either. They were just dreams.

A noise drew his attention to his right, as Charles continued. “I have childhood dreams, too, sometimes.”

Peter froze and his eyes widened as he looked at Professor Xavier, who was standing on his feet.

He was standing. Walking.

It was…

"Some of my dreams are unrealizable for me. Yes. But..." while he smiled warmly at his own legs, various emotions crossed his wrinkled face. He looked both emotional and peaceful as he took a small step forward. “It's good to have dreams. It makes us human."

Peter didn't dare break the silence. A part of him was still immersed in incomprehension, and yet he did not want to deprive the professor of this freedom. He couldn't imagine what a life without legs could be like — without being able to run, move around at will, climb New York City walls, or swing through the streets until exhaustion. He wondered a second if he had been stupid for complaining to this man, who had lost just as much as he had, if not more. 

Without a word, Charles went back to his wheelchair. His features were demonstrating a certain sadness behind a tired smile.

"But it is important to leave room for reality. When you dream, you always have to wake up and open your eyes, even if lying is pleasant.''

When their eyes met, this time Peter didn't try to dodge the exchange. Curiosity had taken over.

"So... do you think... I'm deluding myself?"

“What I think is not necessarily the absolute truth. I do not claim to be God or any higher intelligence. However, from one human being to another, I give you a piece of advice: don't be too hard on yourself. Rare are those who achieve their own personal expectations. We always hope more of ourselves, sometimes even asking for more than we are able to do."

Was Spider-Man a character resumed by a too big dream?

“Accepting help is not a sign of weakness… I myself have had my own moments of doubts and mistakes. And today I am here, with the confidence that I have done all I can to never regret my choices."

The decisions he had faced over the last few months of his existence had been ruthless, giving in only place for regret and the fear of always doing worse. With every step he took, every time he tried to move forward, there was always that little voice in his head that made him question himself. It was definitely exhausting.

His dark thoughts contrasted with the professor's benevolent energy. It was hard not to let go, to resist this well-being.

Finally, Peter let out a surrendering sigh. “I… I don't know what to do.”

"And you don't have to make a decision. Not yet. I'm only going to ask you one thing." He suspended for a few seconds, making sure he got the teenager's attention. "Think about what you, Peter Parker, want. I want you to think of yourself first. For once."

“But… that's selfish.” He gasped, surprised at the man's request.

"Absolutely not. How do you want to help others if you are unable to help yourself? It's a job to do on yourself, and you'll be surprised at how complex it can be.''

It wasn't a mocking air, but Peter couldn't help comparing it to his teachers at school who smirked when they felt the urge to give the students an impossible equation to solve. The man must have heard this in his head, since he chuckled.

“Well, my young friend, I'm glad I got to talk to you.”

"Next time, make a phone call. Or send a letter, it will be less weird." Peter scolded absently as he lay back in his bed, his hands crossed on his stomach.

"Mmh. You sure wouldn't have answered me."

This time it was Peter's turn to smile. He knew the professor hadn't needed his telepathic skills to assert this.

“I like to make myself desired,” he explained, as the room gradually darkened. "But... it was cool to see you again, old man."

"We'll meet again, faster than you think. I'm still hopeful that you ultimately accept help. Whatever or whoever it would be."

His eyes were closing slowly, heavily.

" _You're not alone._ "

**.**

Peter woke up with a start, struggling to catch his breath as he came back to reality.

Accommodation was always difficult.

It took him a few minutes to regain his normal state and realize he was in his suit, laying on the roof of a random building in the middle of the city. To his horror, it was dark. The sky was totally black. Which meant that long hours had passed between the moment of his panic attack, his conversation with the professor, and the return to reality.

Apparently, laws of time didn't seem to apply in the same way when your path crossed Charles Xavier's. But, for now, that wasn't his biggest worry. A glance at the screen on his phone made him comprehend how in trouble he was.

“Shit, past 9PM… what the fuck!” He shouted on his way back to the tower, singing various curses between each swing.

**.**


End file.
